SHADOW-DANCE I spare a thought for those thoughts I won’t let myself think– the self-pitying, venomous ones. I gather them like a coiling seethe of adders – listen to each gripe, each gobbet of envy, wail of rejection. I try to compliment their zigzag markings, dare to stroke their tails and coax them to swallow instead of spit. We sway and weave a dance macabre, decide that lovemaking is preferable to an endless war of attrition. We break into do-si-dos, grapevines, shed skin with each brush-past. And if the world elects to pass us by, it no longer breaks the rhythm of our step.
Rachael Clyne
11