Tendril by Taunja Thomson

Moon inside coyote
shines from her mouth
in the pitch of evening.
Her ears are leaves
ruffled by a rare wind.
Her claws as sharp
as cactus spines.
She has eaten owl and lizard
and snake and she knows
relentless sun    frozen night
sand and web    flower and blood
thick blooms that pinwheel
in day and pray with closed petals
at night.
She opens her mouth—her tongue
a tendril of moonlight
through rock and star.

Taunja Thomson’s poetry has most recently appeared in Potomac.  Two of her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Awards: “Seahorse and Moon” in 2005 and “I Walked Out in January” in 2016.  She has co-authored a chapbook of ekphrastic poetry which has recently been accepted for publication and has a writer’s page at https://www.facebook.com/TaunjaThomsonWriter.


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