Why Otters Are Like Flashman
Whiskered bravado, swift about-turn;
slink and dive into safe flowing water,
rolling with buxom tides and swells.
The slick fur clinging and covering
the unimaginable skin beneath.
Otter, all play and flash and splash.
Otter, ready and willing to fight and vanish.
Teeth and claws and rudder tail.
Flesh and fish and bones to crunch.
Blood on the grass where the kill was feasted.
Blood on the muzzle made innocent by swimming.
At ease and at leisure, stealing not earning,
never the martyr, always the magdalene,
pouring the oil until emptiness drips;
pouring the oil as a poet pours wine:
abundant, abandoned, flooding the shrine.
Warming the feet of St Cuthbert whose penance
was not the most gentle,
their canniness cherished for one thousand years
as though they had waited to do a good turn,
not to seal their reputation forever.
Watching from grasses in dunes by the shore
(the right place and time always judged to perfection)
they put themselves forwards, onwards and upwards,
(and hide when it suits; dive and go under);
and always a smile and the most wondrous whiskers
of all the wild rogues on the fair English river.
Liz Kendall works as a Shiatsu and massage practitioner and Tai Chi Qigong teacher. Her poetry has been published by Candlestick Press, The Hedgehog Poetry Press, and Mslexia. Liz’s book 'Meet Us and Eat Us: Food plants from around the world’ is co-authored with an artist and ethnobotanist. It explores biodiversity through poetry, prose, and fine art photography. Her website is https://theedgeofthewoods.uk and she is on Twitter/X and Facebook @rowansarered, and on Instagram @meetusandeatus.
Amethyst Review 