 Untitled, by Keith Haring (USA) 1982 The Wolves and the Crucifix The wolves keep coming to my door, they keep coming. Today they hold a cross like a trophy. Ink drips from their paws onto the cross. I don’t know what went wrong, how it all happened. They asked for so little—for the drawn lines to merge over their heads, a sky to appear, some earth to support them. They ran around in circles, they bit each other’s tails. I gave them the sky and the earth. I let them grow bigger than what I could see in myself. Their black frames stumbled and fell on white ground. How could I have known that a day would come when they stretch their limbs and walk on two legs? How could I have known that the white space within them would grow large enough to resound? I only saw their open mouths. I only knew that they howled. Romana Iorga This poem was first published at The Gateway Review. Originally from Chisinau, Moldova, Romana Iorga lives in Switzerland. She is the author of two poetry collections in Romanian. Her work in English has appeared or is forthcoming in Bellingham Review, Lunch Ticket, American Literary Review, and others, as well as on her poetry blog at clayandbranches.com.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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April 2021
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