aebarr photo
By
Penn Kemp
Steal, Stole, Stun
The dried heads of black fox hung
from my grandmother’s stole as if
ready to strike. Dead flat button jet
eyes shut tight to their own secret
wiles. When she turned to talk to me
from the front seat of dad’s Meteor,
the foxes would swing in turn back
as if they too had something to say.
And what they whispered was darker
than words, darker that the deepest
lake they drowned in. That dark knew
how to spread and fill the entire car.
Their dark buried my grandmother’s kind
words in black ink. They buried her and
her stories of wild Irish banshees wailing
on roofs to warn us of imminent death.
Penn Kemp
Penn Kemp is an activist Canadian poet, playwright and editor. Her latest works are Local Heroes, and the forthcoming Fox Haunts. Recent books include Barbaric Cultural Practice and two anthologies edited, Women and Multimedia and Performing Women. See www.pennkemp.weebly.com.
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