by Lizzy Huitson
Fox-face eats catfish down by the river. They leap to his mouth, wriggle into the jagged gap between his jaws and settle there. Shy moorhens grow bold on his smiles, skip the water, reckless; salt themselves and sweeten their blood. Rabbits shed their fur, their cover the colour of quiet wild things and stretch, loose-limbed, unfrightened. But what he wants is swans, snake-necked and hissing with feathers like a virgin canvas to display his bloody footprints.
Lizzy Huitson is a part-time writer and full-time bookworm living in Abingdon, England. Her poetry has most recently appeared in Crack The Spine, The Corner Club Press and Dead Flowers: A Poetry Rag. Her first "proper" chapbook is due to be published by Dancing Girl Press in 2015.
She enjoys spy novels, getting lost in the countryside and cheesy 80's rock music. Her favourite fruit is a chocolate orange.
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