Fox-wife
When I told you I’d trick the moon
right out of the sky and into your wine,
your eyes said I couldn’t be trusted;
you knew my kind that come
on the breeze, under the crow’s wing,
when hope needs us the most.
My hands are rugged, eyes sag
with the weight of a forest’s century,
that I fished the sky for stars, until
I found my nights in the pit of your heart,
and I leave each morning, unsure
if I’ll return at dusk, a woman.
Cherry Doyle lives near Cannock Chase. She has been published in Cannon’s Mouth, The Cadaverine and was the Leaveners Poet of the Month for June 2016. She is completing an OU degree in Creative Writing, and tweets occasionally @ms_n_thrope