Angie Macri

Scintilla


The sky filled with wolves
except to the southeast
where the dog star moved
blue to white to red, scintillation
a word the child learned
but couldn’t pronounce,
fixed on the page. The world
turned until she understood
that books held only a few
stories of wolves. Their eyes,
their teeth meant little
more than appetite. They ran
out of the margins and soon
she couldn’t sleep for all
the calling until the dog
stretched beside her
across the ground, arrow
with aim so true no bow
was needed. The worse the air, 
the more the star moved
until she knew bad things were coming
but not to worry. See the fire
so large, so near it would be
the sun if just a few steps 
of light years closer?
And no, the star has not fallen.
That was you, but it comes
to your side, faithful, glowing.

Angie Macri is the author of Underwater Panther (Southeast Missouri State University), winner of the Cowles Poetry Book Prize. Her recent work appears in North American Review, Salamander, and Sugar House Review. An Arkansas Arts Council fellow, she lives in Hot Springs and teaches at Hendrix College.
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