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Eileen Godollei-Reis 

Hound 

A blue shape, all but hidden, 
dingoes in the dark, intent, 
follows one scent 
past town, past farm-
houses, remote barns, 
up a hill, 
to where the road narrows 
to a footpath, wanders off, 
is nearly lost in weeds, tree-roots,aworn rag of ribbon 
dropped long ago, along a lake, 
and then 
widens again. 

Three crescents: 
the moon, and two yellow eyes. 
They widen, wax round, · 
nearing the mistress. 
she waits at the crossing. 
She sits on a fallen 
tree, obliquely 
dividing the road. 
Caressing his ear, she whispers, 
"I knew you'd come." 

Eileen Godollei-Reis 

Angry Poem 

I'll laugh if you bar the door. 
Nail the windows-go ahead. 
Wreathe the bedposts with garlic, 
Clutch a cross all night! 
Build a fire-
or shut the damper, and strew 
upended nails on the cold hearth floor. 

You won't hear us-
but we'll get in. 
Delicately, in the dark, 
my hound will lick 
your throat (a thin wind 
will have snaked through 
a crack and blown back the sheet). 
You have to sleep sometime. 

Eileen Godollei-Reis 
The Blue Fox 

The blue fox sleeps, 
haunches drawn in, 
tail blanketing. The wind 
ruffles his fur. Nostrils, jaws, 
ripple, work, tasting it. 

Lapped in shadows, 
he is lapped by other shadows, 
seen and disappearing, 
the carcanet of white at the throat. 

He could almost be dead-
body fretted with light 
stabbing the canopied space 
like seven swords through a magician's box, 
when the leaves stir. 

The dictionary says that the blue fox 
is the winter color phase 
of the arctic fox. This canine roams 
the arctic regions, which lie mostly 
north of the timber line. Regardless, 

in a viridescent forest, 
streaked harsh and glorious with purple, 
orange and yellow, 
droning, steaming, tangling, 
screeching, sucking, gnawing, splintering, 
the blue fox twitches 
in his dream. 

Julie Chwalek37