Wild Animals
as children we know safety
in numbers, lean
in to the pack, or
be consumed
That could be why it hurts, growing
queer in the South.
who will huddle with us, lap
at our wounds, clean
our fur of its mites, call
us in for dinner
I know what it’s like, Othered
among faces so much my own.
who will watch us closely
certain we won’t be swallowed
up in the night