After all these years. Here I am. Flesh made folktale and folktale, flesh.
stirring the coals ...
The Woman Who Became
a Fox
I see it in the abandonment, though mine was of a different kind, and in the dark moods, the altered demeanour, the change in vision. Over the long years we, too, had become strangers, terrifyingly so.
dark moon
in the scrying bowl
a womb-shaped howl
The only difference was, when it was time to leave, I had no other choice. And it wasn’t just me. The children and I gathered only the things we loved and needed most, as much as we could carry, the pockets of the clothes we stood up in swollen and heavy as our eyes.
We didn’t head for the sea but fled north, headlong into the mighty clutches of a giant who gave us shelter but threw us down on his cold, hard floor. We wept with relief that we were safe but mourned, too, for lost friends, and the small comforts of the home we once loved.
wild garlic
his hold over me
even in dreams
A voice called upon me to wear a new skin, a thicker one at that, so I assumed the mantle of Crow. I made myself fierce beneath my ebony feathers and harried any threats to my young. I scavenged for morsels and crept deeper into the shadows. But this coat was drum-tight and the pain was too much to bear. When I despaired, the voice whispered again and drew my attention to another pelt entirely. I buried my fingers in the luxurious rust-red cloud of it, then slipped it on. No sooner than I did, it enveloped me as if it were tailor-made. It became me, and I, it.
autumn bracken
my own scent comes back to me
on the wind
There was no going back now. My russet ears were pricked, and my white-tipped tail pointed to the life I'd left behind. A way opened, and I skittered through it with my kits on my heels, this time yonder to the hills. And though the path was perilous, the distant meadows, reflected in my amber eyes, shimmered with promise.
Oh, if he could see me now, how I have stepped into my fire. Vixen! How often was that a slur on his lips? Be careful what you wish for.
hoarfrost
the scar where I prised myself
free of the trap
has served as editor for various journals including Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, The Red Moon Anthology, Haibun Today, and Skylark, and as a contributing editor for MacQueen’s Quinterly. In her other life, Claire supports adults with learning disabilities, autism, and complex needs, and has worked through the Covid-19 pandemic.
