I would like to drag the depths of your eyes
for words. I see them sometimes, darting sideways,
fleeing like hunted fish.
Such progress you’ve made since we found you—
a small lostling, a wolf-child, a fiend
eating crow’s wings in the forest.
Loud lungs. Wordless mouth.
To house you was difficult—ceilings scared you
but to gift you a name
(Marie, on a silver chain) gave me joy.

no longer kneeling to water, dancing ecstatic
over vanquished dogs.
Claws trimmed, hair neat, sharp stick set aside
and less of that shriek-speak. A blessing.
One word, Marie, a useful word perhaps?
The warning of wolves.
The promise of just-fallen fruit.
A texture—raw rabbit.
A scent—hay in winter.
A request.
One word.

Lizzy Huitson

Lizzy Huitson is a part-time writer and full-time bookworm living in Abingdon, England. Her poetry has most recently appeared in Salamander, Goblin Fruit and The Corner Club Press. Her chapbook, “The God of Cold Girls and Cold Places” is due to be published by Dancing Girl Press in 2015. In 2014 she was a first-time participant in National Novel Writing Month and she has unrealistically high hopes for the resulting book. She enjoys spy novels, cheesy eighties rock music and getting lost in the countryside.