Howling at the August Moon
by Mikela Bjork

Hold you, mama.
He says, sleepy-eyes, hands
beckoning to pick him up,
my little cub.

We stand at the foot of the driveway,
beneath the moon’s lucent shadow
as we throw our heads back and howl.

The vibrations purr between us
as I silently carry us back towards
home. Sleepy-eyes, heavier

tiny hands resting on my deflated breast.
A tender snore, as we approach the front steps.
Sometimes, we just need to howl at the moon
and be held.



 

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