by Stella Wulf
She lies low, watches the last crow
________fletch the bloodshot sky,
________________straight as a quarrel home to roost.
A tatter of bats whisk like rags mopping up the dusk.
________Night pitches in, its skin nicked by a sickle moon.
________________Stars break out in a bristling rash.
She sensed he wouldn’t come back
________when the dawn cracked – cracked – cracked,
________________when she felt the pound and bellow of men,
________________________rumbling in the earth’s belly.
Alert on her toes she levels her tail,
________pricks her ears for the squeak of mouse,
________________the plop of frog, the feather-flick of nested grouse.
She hugs the shadow of his scent, rootles
________the empty space of him, stalks his wake,
________________tomorrow lurching inside her.
Tonight she’ll shake new life out of the dead,
________and when the day breaks, yolk-yellow,
________________she’ll bear his blood in a feathered bed.
Stella Wulf lives in South West France. She has an MA in Creative Writing, from Lancaster University and her work has been widely published, both in print and online magazines and journals. Her poems have been included in several anthologies including, The Very Best of 52, three drops from a cauldron, and the Clear Poetry Anthology. She is also an artist and her work can be seen on her website: stellawulf.com
