Once, while walking I came upon a woman
crawling out from under a fallen tree’s
tilted trunk. Pink jacket,
the color of strawberry
bubblegum. Pink
in all that earth and earthy green.
She blushed and explained
she was pretending to be a fox.
How was it, I asked. Pretty good, she said.
I said I would give it a try.
Earthy it was. A crumbled bed.
Some moss you couldn’t see
unless you got under. I wanted
to lie like a fox with my chin on the ground
and my tail curled around my paws.
But my body wouldn’t make the shape.
I wondered if hers did.
I lay as close as I could.
Pink jacket. You never know, do you?
Who is underneath. Who is fox.
Who your kin might be.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 27, Issue 3.
Kelly Terwilliger is the author of two collections of poetry, a forthcoming chapbook, and a forthcoming hybrid book combining poetry, painting, and prose. Her work has appeared in journals and anthologies in the US, Canada, and Britain. She recently won first prize in the Guernsey International Poetry Competition, and her award-winning poem is happily travelling around on buses in the Channel Islands. A residency at PLAYA has furthered her work on a collaborative manuscript about swimming in wild places. She teaches and performs as an oral storyteller in public schools in Eugene, Oregon.
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