Alina Rios

GO AHEAD AND HOWL

One morning you took my hand

and wouldn’t let go.

Barefoot and hungry,

you pulled me

through winter’s cold

and summer’s dust

through promise of spring

and sadness of autumn.

Through sweetness

of our first dinner

and saltiness

of our first fight.

You opened closets

and let the bones fall

where they may.

We waded

dark tunnels’

rushing waters

till we shivered

our hearts raw.

You helped me

out of my nightgown

and looked at me,

and saw.

Then, on the roof

above our first bed,

you turned me toward the moon,

full and maddening,

held my head

to keep my gaze steady.

Go ahead and howl, you said,

and didn’t shrink back when I did.

CP

Born in St. Petersburg, Russia, Alina Rios now breathes in the coffee-scented air of Seattle, edits technical documentation, and reads her work at local open mics. She was recently short-listed for the Gulliver Travel Grant. Her poetry has appeared in Mused, Rust & Moth, Neon and other fine places.