The Feral Child

The womb has produced these faint traces of wolf:
dark hair on the tailbone and fuzz on her elfin
elephant’s ears. Her thighs too are tinged
with a mantle of animal residue; stranger
species still live under her fingernails,
sharpen them into pale talons; vestigial
predators pry her jaws open to take
the sitting-duck breast and strangle its milk
like a python, egged on to swallow
mouse after mouse. She sleeps near her kill
like a lioness, until the hollow
sound of her tears makes her recognizable
to her mother. A baby again,
she repents of the dark shapes that squirm underground
and promises to retain the disguise
of humanity, to be sure the world sees
the warm fur recede, the appetite soften,
the shaggy legs wear smooth, the blunted nails brighten.