PROSE,
POETRY & STORY
How to Skin a Fox
Kelly Gray
Girl is a Fox a Fox is a Girl
Tell the girl and a fox a creation story in the moment before they are born. Lead them to their mother den, an empty space in the face of rocks, an opening to a pathway down, a place dug out by claws with eyes closed. A dirt womb. Show them that they don’t have a past, which will make it hard for them to imagine a future. Speak ill of their ancestors. Tell the fox that she is less than cunning, chicken bound and bred. Tell the girl she’s a burden in the coop, eggs cracked in hands. Watch them while they sleep until you can’t tell them apart, fingers and paws twitching. Tuck stolen coins behind their ears so that they dream of geese and rabbits, scissors and sewing needles. Throw rocks at them while they slumber, crack a plate against their bed. When they wake, they will wonder at their form. Paws, palms, tail. Breasts, snout, calves. Send them out into the world.
For the complete story, please visit Issue 17 of the Lunch Ticket here.