The Werewolf's Wife Revisited

The morning after Yom Kippur,
The one who was the werewolf's wife
Washes up on cool cotton shores
And wakes to begin a new life.

No sign of him whose howls caught
In her hot ears and wouldn't leave;
No sign of the most shameful thoughts
That were once all she could believe.

The hook for her red dressing-gown
Is empty, but upon the bed
A comforter of white goosedown
And soft pillows under her head.

With gentle hand over her womb
She traces the stripes and the scars
That, combined with this kind, bright room,
Will make her new days what they are.

With cautious smile she greets the light;
With shaky legs stands, marvels how
The one who was the werewolf's wife
Belongs only to herself now.

Read more of the tale of the werewolf's wife here.
Photograph by Gem

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