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  • Writer's pictureAlice Wyatt

Do You Need My Wild?

Tiny Bites

in the fall

metal jaws take

much needed tiny bites

sprawling mesquite branches

are tided, no longer

rub the roofline raw

the result?

this spring, most unexpectedly,

each nibbled nub is dead

I ponder this tragedy.

when society deems

my emotional sprawl


my reaching, grasping

messy and unbecoming

shall I be nipped?

my soul tamed, tidied

no longer rubbing the wrong way?


will I recognize these tiny bites

lead to death, remove myself

from jaws of judgment

strive to stretch


give shade, shelter

to all who have need

of my wild?

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