Shaman Girl's Calendar by Agnes Marton

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.

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