JAN OWEN

Kitsune

How you would fix
on fox sushi, Inari sushi
their red-rice ears ranged
like sinister trophies on a plate.
Four five six
with your small sharp teeth
till what I might have said
stuck in my throat not to be
overheard by those prick ears
as you nibbled them down to tiny globs
on your red-dipped almond nails.
Of that last evening I remember
the rice grain caught
on the faint down of your upper lip
as you looked up sideways
under your henna fringe
and how when I reached it
lightly to my mouth
your narrowing stare
finished us once and for all.
Whether the silk you wore
or your swished hair
there was a sudden
fox-fur crackle in the air
the whiff of a rank perfume.