Bio Note: Reading and writing poems have sustained me through good times and bad; helped to ground me, especially these past months of covid and political anxiety. Observing the natural world in the woods behind my house and walks along the beach replenish my soul and inspire creative work. I have published here and there but it's the writing process that engages me. Publications include Ibbetson Review, Larcom Review, and Endicott Review.
The old grandmother prods the fire with her stick. The logs hiss and sputter. She eyes the wolf lurking nearby lured by the fire’s warmth or the smell of fresh meat. It was a good kill and now the animal’s spirit has been appeased. She settles herself, pulls the supple robe across her shoulders. The hot flames illuminate her face while the animal’s coat protects her back against the cold dead night.
Her cool stare seems paradoxical covered as she is in warm fur lynx bellies the ad copy reads. That stops me. Idly thumbing through the glossy magazine Easily distracted from columns of serious newsprint Crisp clean linen, silver knives, champagne flutes Luscious helpings of civilized elegance. Except this. The fur draped across her breasts where her heart beats just underneath the soft bloodless bodies specially designed for her. You stare at this pristine savage all sinew and raw nerve indifferent to the pitiless reduction of living matter. For her an easy shoot.
©2021 Abigail Bottome
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