Dave Bonta's "Shapeshifter" is a short poem about the urge to slip out of a single, fixed identity. It begins with sound and story: bells that seem to speak directly to the speaker, and tales that "undo" them, as if listening loosens the self rather than strengthening it. Being undone here feels less like damage and more like opening up.
The middle of the poem asks a question that sounds half playful, half serious. Who could resist imitating birds and dogs? The speaker treats this as a natural temptation, almost a shared human one. The final lines move somewhere stranger and deeper. To "home ourselves in the bone" suggests settling into the body at its most basic level, and then looking across to "the other side" and counting how many are there. The poem doesn't say who they are, so it's left open. They might be ancestors, other creatures, or other versions of ourselves. The mood is curious, hushed, and slightly eerie, with a quiet wonder about what lies beyond the ordinary self.