"Two Heads Blue Heads" by Julie Epp
Maddie Barone | Werewolf Poetics
I put on my wolf head and now
I’m halfway to finding some new animality.
Hands gone down to talons, to fur, all anger
and blood, all whisper and bite, I snap all
pencils in two. I pace the edge of every stoop.
I sleep curled up on top of books I stack
with my teeth, teeth I buy at the tooth shop
next door, the one with the sign FREE TEETH
though the teeth aren’t free, it’s a gift economy,
give one tooth get another, sharper, more fang than
molar. They have all the teeth they’ve collected lined
up on the windowsill, a teeth display, glinting slowly
in the fading southern light. There are more werewolves
every day, the woman at the register tells me as she hands
me my teeth as if to comfort me, me standing there
with my fur curled and puffed by the humid air, one
ear full wolf, the other still halfway human, her
with her perfect smile full of perfectly round human
teeth. She pats my furred hand resting on the counter.
She points at the book in my hand and says that’s
my favorite, she points at the ad by the door, the one
that reads WEREWOLF POETICS and I see it all
animal: during the full moon, the chill pricks my skin,
finds me shivering, tears me sharply in two.
I put my face to the dirt, root for worms still swirling,
beetles with an extra crunch I howl that long howl
that shapes my throat tingles the hard earth of my
mouth foaming watering my feet hard in cold
clay my paws digging through mud every word
the southern air hotter than it has ever been it scorches
my insides it flames me it leaves me wanting more
the trees cooing as I rub my flank against their bark
flowers humming as I put my eye to their sweet fluttering
water rushing by a word I forgot and now remember
the breeze my mother telling me to come downstairs
the sun bursting through my eyes my wife saying honey
hi every word I’ve ever known falling to my feet
every word nestling against my skin rippling every
word a new word a word I’ve known and a word
that carves into my mouth a word sticking to my teeth
a word tasting like the soft burn of this new animality.
I’m halfway to finding some new animality.
Hands gone down to talons, to fur, all anger
and blood, all whisper and bite, I snap all
pencils in two. I pace the edge of every stoop.
I sleep curled up on top of books I stack
with my teeth, teeth I buy at the tooth shop
next door, the one with the sign FREE TEETH
though the teeth aren’t free, it’s a gift economy,
give one tooth get another, sharper, more fang than
molar. They have all the teeth they’ve collected lined
up on the windowsill, a teeth display, glinting slowly
in the fading southern light. There are more werewolves
every day, the woman at the register tells me as she hands
me my teeth as if to comfort me, me standing there
with my fur curled and puffed by the humid air, one
ear full wolf, the other still halfway human, her
with her perfect smile full of perfectly round human
teeth. She pats my furred hand resting on the counter.
She points at the book in my hand and says that’s
my favorite, she points at the ad by the door, the one
that reads WEREWOLF POETICS and I see it all
animal: during the full moon, the chill pricks my skin,
finds me shivering, tears me sharply in two.
I put my face to the dirt, root for worms still swirling,
beetles with an extra crunch I howl that long howl
that shapes my throat tingles the hard earth of my
mouth foaming watering my feet hard in cold
clay my paws digging through mud every word
the southern air hotter than it has ever been it scorches
my insides it flames me it leaves me wanting more
the trees cooing as I rub my flank against their bark
flowers humming as I put my eye to their sweet fluttering
water rushing by a word I forgot and now remember
the breeze my mother telling me to come downstairs
the sun bursting through my eyes my wife saying honey
hi every word I’ve ever known falling to my feet
every word nestling against my skin rippling every
word a new word a word I’ve known and a word
that carves into my mouth a word sticking to my teeth
a word tasting like the soft burn of this new animality.
Maddie Barone is a queer poet from the Southern United States. They received their MFA from the University of South Carolina. Their work has appeared in Quarterly West, The Penn Review, The Madison Review, Miracle Monocle, and elsewhere. They live in South Carolina with their wife and two cats, Goose and Sunny.
Julie Epp is a watercolour artist based in Metro Vancouver whose intimate, dreamlike paintings explore hidden emotions and the shifting layers of identity. Through delicate, surreal imagery, she reflects on what is lost, buried, or unspoken within us. Her work invites stillness and self-examination, offering viewers a quiet space to reconnect with their inner world. http://www.julilyart.com/
