Wolf In My Kitchen

I watch a she-wolf  
Across the table
Who has come down  
From the tree-line  
Into a small clearing  
And stands majestic, alert
Watching, listening, waiting,  
Hyper-aware  
A sound or movement  
Having caught her ear or eye  
A pounce, a tiny screech    
She is now eating  
A mouse, a mole, or a shrew  
Maybe it was turkey ham  
Holding it between her paws  
She tears it by pulling  
With her muscular neck  
And turning her head  
Sharp teeth/fangs  
Canines, bicuspids, incisors  
As she cuts the end  
Of a block of cheddar  
With a paring knife  
And all the while I sit  
Silent and still  
As it transpires before me  
She turns and trots back  
To the mouth of the trail  
That leads beyond  
The shadows of the trees  
To the inner workings  
Of the forest, then stops  
Looks me in the eyes  
To let me know  
She had seen me the entire time  
And says,  
“Love me for who I am,  
Not for who you want me to be.”  
Then walks into the den  
. . . or was it the living room?