From Blood and Ash and Embers
by Jessica J. Lee
At night the nine-tailed fox
(girl) cleaves to her shape like a held
breath,
like a prayer keened through steel trap
teeth. She waits for the fire
to die, her (smooth round pink) ears
perked at the soft crackle of crisp skin
curling gently as the head
cooks.
She only kills
the ones she wants
to (eat)
be.
When the bones cool, the nine-tailed (fox) girl plunges
her hand — composed of four slim fingers
and a dexterous thumb (still sticky
with blood) so elegantly designed to
claw and clutch —
through a ribcage as brittle as a paper parasol.
Ash and embers
cling to her four fingers and thumb
as her breath drags in and
(pants)
out.
She digs
with frenzied
pawing
motions,
each clumsier than the last. And when her
fourfingersandthumb curl to scoop
a smooth round hard shape
from the charred mound, she bites
back a triumphant yip.
That night the girl
swallows the glow of the harvested gem,
and her nine tails
fall away
to lie discarded at her feet. She gazes down
at her
unshifting hands
and she marvels
to find herself
(weeping).
Jessica J. Lee's work has appeared in Fantasy Magazine, PodCastle, and Crossed Genres. Her favorite fruit is the hallabong, and she's all manner of aggrieved that it's fallen out of season. She lives in Seoul, and makes sporadic attempts at blogging.
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