Why She Howls:

a coyote love poem

by Kij Johnson

It was cold

the stars sharp as ice shards

in the river–dark sky.

The ground glittered

underfoot,

hard with frost.

For heat

I danced alone

crying for a lover

blood thick with wanting

scent rich as summer greasewood.

His eyes were river–dark;

shape sheathed, hard in soft.

Muscles swelled against my mouth

when I bit.

He heard me,

smelled me,

saw me dance—

how could he not want me?

—And I wanted him.

Nevertheless I flirted:

a coyote, and therefore inconstant

We ran to the arroyo

where even on cold nights

the cholla spice the air

slice it into jagged shapes.

Teeth against my nape,

he caught me,

pressed me belly–down

to the hard earth.

His hips cupped mine.

I moved my tail aside for him,

open—

The thrust was sweet,

the release

rich as blood

pouring over my tongue

at the kill.

We shivered together for a time

but he left at dawn.

Coyote—

I forgot my lover

would be one as well.