Shaman Girl’s Calendar
On Monday I’m an eight-armed mollusk,
symmetric, with a slooshy beak.
I alter, reinvest my shape
to squeeze through rancid routines.
My Tuesday is a cheetah romp.
I tear zig-zagging errands,
my never-retracted claws
keep traction on the grounds.
On Wednesday I do shrimping. To work out.
I sing the names of those who wronged me
on my back with their smirks in the air.
I muscle myself across the shore.
Thursday, more than a siren: skipping larva,
I hatch as a slender salamander
without lungs or gills. I breathe
through membranes in my throat.
On Friday urges are immediate. From tadpole
I grapple into a wood frog to bear the freeze
in the peat bogs. I wear a dark eye mask,
pale underpants with a yellow cast.
Saturday’s a hike. The forking paths
make me lament. Gullfaxi, the golden
mane. No, not a pony! A five-gaited myth
with two beginnings, three ends.
On Sunday I’m the anaconda queen,
proud and aware. New skin!
Slimy bliss. My insides feel
like a blind baby’s blanket, pure plush.
And again from the start, round and round,
like ferrets on the roof in sudden light
searching for a feral goddess or god
inside or out.
Agnes Marton is a poet, writer, librettist, Reviews Editor of The Ofi Press, founding member of Phoneme Media, Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts. Recent publications include her collection ‘Captain Fly’s Bucket List’ and three chapbooks with Moria Books. She won the National Poetry Day Competition in the UK.