Tattoo

Words of importance stationary
on my back. If you saw them,
read, formed on your tongue,
you would experience the exposed
part of me.

They would saturate the air, tasting
of fairy-dust, carrying us away,
though my shoulders would hit the grass--
tickling, wet touch, a feminine scream.

   You ignore ink,
   my witnessed words
       as philosophy,
   imprinted on my flesh.

Wild Shape

A given name causes fear--
not embodied by who I am.
You name me werewolf,
telling stories to your children
how wild I could be.

Call me monster.

Distance yourself from the natural world,
yet claim it conquered.

Only once you feel the wind
slice across your skin,
experience the water's fury and love,
and howl in praise of the moon,
can you call it home.

I would show you beauty
if you didn't run.

Theresa Lang is a graduate of the Bluegrass Writers' community at Eastern Kentucky University. She lives near Cincinnati, Ohio, has been published in Emerge Literary Journal and Papercuts, and was the poetry editor of Jelly Bucket.