On days when I am sullen, I think of them: 
fox of envy, hollow fox with black punched eyes.

Skittering fox skirting the road, fingers-in-the-pie fox, 
egg-stealing fox licking thin black lips to red? Pretty little doll-fox. 

Fox of bad nerves and pill-fox, Scotch-fox forever coupling 
with glass-fox. Fox of the lamb and fox of the knife. 

Closer, fox, and I trick you into my arms: whiskers
tasting the air, extravagant tail collaring my neck, your gekkering

echoing through my empty rooms. Fox of mother’s thoughts, 
I swaddle you in song and whisper into your fearful, laid-back ears:  
In what wood did you leave your young. To what hunger. 


Jennifer Whitaker

Seo KimMother's Foxes (digital illustration)