She often told me
she hurt
just below the surface
of her skin

I was so young

I thought that might mean

she had the fangs of a wolf
growing in her hands

I always wondered
when I held her hand
late at night
while the

winds howled outside

if they were calling her home

and
she would bare those fangs
to tear my

heart to shreds

Charles Darkly

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-delicate-way-the-cradle-board-swings-in-the-boughs/