By this I mean change
my shape at will,
a lesson learned early on,
for the very young
are close to feral.
Though a brier is sharp,
all prick and tear,
beneath burr and nettle,
gorse and thorn,
a rabbit shifts
until no longer there.
The first time I shifted
my small dog self
climbed into the bed
of my older brother,
who was four.
Paw slung over
and pressed against
his slim warm body I slept
until my father’s anger
sent me scampering
from his tight-laced
sense of shoulds
and then I understood—
a girl is snow,
blown into whatever suits
the air that carries her.
She learns to shift
into cornice, dune, snow bridge,
cover and ripple
for the cold hard ground
onto which she falls.
is a poet who has work forthcoming in Synkroniciti and curated by Anti-Heroin Chic; The Ekphrastic Review; ONE ART; Sheila-Na-Gig; Sparks of Calliope (which nominated her work for Best of The Net 2023 and the Pushcart Prize in 2024); Triggerfish Critical Review; and Verse-Virtual. She was awarded second and third place in the Maine Postmark Contest 2023 and 2024. In her poetry she explores life’s transitional and liminal spaces, and is currently working on her debut collection.
