by Mary Thompson
You were once a manta ray
breaching the surface of the sea
like a gymnast
leaping high above its glittering splashes.
How we twisted and turned and whirled together
like a hypnotic melody.
Your impact boomed through the ocean.
Now I wish I could hunker down for winter
sleep like the hedgehog cocooned in thousands of spines.
Or if I were a llama,
I’d refuse to take your shit.
I’d lie on the ground and kick and spit
so you’d retreat
and leave me there alone.
Pigeons detect storms from a vast distance.
If I were a pigeon, I’d hear you coming
I’d make out your footsteps, sense your breathing
by the time your Doc Martens were on the stairs
I’d be ready to skulk into the bathroom
the only room I can lock.
Did you know that skulk is the collective term for foxes
And that the red ones scream when mating?
They sound like they’re being murdered,
but they’re happy apparently.
Mary Thompson works as an English tutor in London. Her work has been published in various places including Retreat West, Ghost Parachute, LISP, Literary Orphans, New Flash Fiction Review and Pidgeonholes, and is forthcoming at Riggwelter, Flash Flood and Bending Genres. She is a first reader for Craft Literary Journal. Find her online at maryruthblog.com and @MaryRuth69.