The Wild Ones


Where do we belong, the wild ones

entrusted to God?

The wild ones, who do not know fences

because God does not build fences

The ones who read light, dark, movement, sound,

temperature and scent to find our way

through the forest

Where do we belong

when the forest is gone?

The wild ones who are out of our skin

with the torment of waste and rape, ravaged

by crying babies and screaming mothers beaten,

bombed and abandoned

Where do we sleep but in the alley?

Where do we eat but from the waste?

We, vultures in the wake, whom God has chosen

to digest the decay,

Where do we belong

when everything but us is clean

on the surface?

Where do we belong, the wild ones

who live honestly without question?

And who but God feeds us by hand?


note: Written March 2014 during a month's witness with wolf, THE WILD ONES like IN SOLIDARITY I AM is one of few among my poems that's been completed in a flash once the first line appeared.


Megan Hollingsworth