White Wolf by Elizabeth Morse
I am the white wolf, and I am lost.
Pine trees fan out over me.
Tiny branches and needles
crunch under my feet.
Stars pour across the sky.
I keep walking until I see the city,
Highways studded with ruby lights,
Silver buildings pointing upward.
Ahead is the realm of light.
Ahead is the place where
they will destroy me.
Bio
Elizabeth Morse is a poet who lives in New York’s East Village. Her work has been published in literary magazines such as Ginosko and Blue Mesa Review. A poetry chapbook, The Future Is Now, was published by Linear Arts Press. She has her MFA from Brooklyn College and supports her poetry with a job in technology.
Author's note
My piece was influenced by dreams, fairy tales and folk tales in addition to a surreal film that blends myth and legend with the modern world. Therefore, I thought it might be a good fit for Carmina.
