The Norsemen had Fenrir
Fangs that would rip
Into the stratosphere
Tearing the weathered
Moon and sun
Sister and Brother
Apart like a torn quilt

For the Greeks
Artemis was their master
Docile around her graceful
Movements, yet vicious
As Fenrir was cruel,
Actaeon was slaughtered
Under salivating jaws

And yet some girls
Bare feet streaked with
Dirt would claim
The holy mother was
Accompanied by them.
Melting into dogs under
Her blessed touch.

You may know one
Like the wolves.
They take many shapes
And many masters
Hold their chains.
Don’t get me wrong,
There are many docile wolves.

Yet some do let
The fables instruct them
In ways of trickery.
They let you
Spill against them.
Forming a pact
Balanced on your blindness.

And as soon as you
Rise to your unsteady feet
Like a fawn after a fall,
They slip away
Howling to their beloved moon,
Secrets meant only for them.

Do not fault the wolves,
Their endearment
To the silver orb
Is in their nature.
She is their one lover,
Confidant, mentor,
A space no one else can fill.

Alexandra Gaines is an undergraduate student at North Carolina State University. She was a finalist in the 2017 North Carolina State University Fiction contest. She spends almost all her free time reading.