I pulled into the driveway, walked
to the porch, knocked on the door,
thought I heard wolves howling inside,
a guttural, “I’m coming” as the door opened
and thought I saw a snout turning into a nose
as a silver-haired, ageless beautiful woman
said, “Yes?” and I said, “I’m lost” and
she said, "I know” and stepped outside.
“You’re in the enchanted forest,” she said
and started to sing, La Belle Dame Sans Merci
and I felt the words binding me and stuttered,
“How can I leave?” and she said, “It’s a good
thing you came here, to me. Down the road
are bears. An odorous clan, tearing trees for grubs,
eating carrion, rotten berries and apples,
getting drunk on honey. No sense of who they
are or are to be.” She sang the song at the end
of the sentence, my heart waiting for the next
harmony. She smiled, whispered, “I know your
every dream” as though I was hearing myself
thinking and thought I might be a butterfly
inside a cocoon or a wolf pup inside her belly
or the lost lover returning and heard the word,
“Merci” and repeated it to her and she smiled
and said, “That way” pointing to the end
of the road, “will take you away from here.
If you want to go.” I felt my heart cut in half
and almost howled then whispered, “Yes”
and I was standing in an empty place,
the call of wolves in the woods, the word
“Merci” among the howling.
-Byron Hoot
