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The Tlingit word for ‘wolf’ is gooch, and with the recent supermoon plastering the weekend skies, I thought it would be fun to share two of my favorite wolf poems, both from kick-a$$ poets (like top of the top ten of the poetry gods, no lie).

The first is from fellow Alaskan Native Mary TallMountain.images.duckduckgo.com


The last wolf hurried toward me
through the ruined city
and I heard his baying echoesindex
down the steep smashed warrens
of Montgomery Street and past
the ruby-crowned highrises
left standing
their lighted elevators useless

Passing the flicking red and green
of traffic signals
baying his way eastward
in the mystery of his wild…


from The Light on the Tent Wall


The second is from Latino poet Victor Hernández Cruz.



Her voice comes out of her knees,
her fingernails are full of sound,
Birds are in her lungs,
which gives her gargantuan flight,
A florescence through ether waves,
like ancestral Morse codes.
Oriente province de Cuba
her first steps.
At nineteen she dismantled retinas—
roosters blew themselves inside out,
When she swayed by cathedrals they folded,
guayacan trees fell to their knees,
Mountains bowed with the contents
for ajiaco.
She filled the horizon with kerchiefs,
gypsies danced behind her,
Her bracelets were snakes,
forces were captured in her…

from Maraca: New & Selected Poems


And for those Native American art lovers, enjoy oodles of Tlingit (and other tribal) art over at AlaskaNativeArtists.com, including this supercool carved gooch helmet: