Cry Wolf

I waited,
looked out frosted windows.
Mistook the black caps
of Chickadees,
for your dark hair.

You return,
with your hat in your hand
Your eyes on the ground.
I set aside my heart
to melt snow from your coat.

Twice you tell me
of a traffic jam.
Twice you say
you were waiting for rain.
Two times you hunted
for thunder glass,
buried in the sand.

Before Spring,
I will go.
When I can no longer
see my breath.
But for now,
I’ll believe
Since it’s cold and
you have yet to say anything
three times over.



I must have flowered out
while you slept, a lump
of dirty knees and ashy elbows.
I no longer fit in the folds
where I used to stash myself and hide.
But still, a cactus,
I ask to be watered,
even when I have what I need.

Harris Bauer’s poem “Cry Wolf” won first prize in 2013 in the First Annual School of Visual Arts Writing Program Contest. He is a junior in the Visual and Critical Studies Department.