The selkie learned early about sharks
She once insisted that not everything with teeth
is a shark, but when you’re young and tender
the lesson is always the same.
Recognize. Avoid. Evade.
The threat is multidimensional. If fear freezes you,
you are already in the belly. She heard a rumor
sharks can also shed their sandpaper skin, take
human form as easily as she does. She never believed it.
But once, in the grocery store, while she stood
reading the nutrition label on a box of cereal, a man
passed close behind her and a swirl of icy water
wrapped her nerves. It happened again by the rows of yogurts.
She left her cart, left the store, drove home
by a circuitous route. She sat on the floor,
back to the locked door, watching her skin shift
from woman to seal and back again.
is a shark, but when you’re young and tender
the lesson is always the same.
Recognize. Avoid. Evade.
The threat is multidimensional. If fear freezes you,
you are already in the belly. She heard a rumor
sharks can also shed their sandpaper skin, take
human form as easily as she does. She never believed it.
But once, in the grocery store, while she stood
reading the nutrition label on a box of cereal, a man
passed close behind her and a swirl of icy water
wrapped her nerves. It happened again by the rows of yogurts.
She left her cart, left the store, drove home
by a circuitous route. She sat on the floor,
back to the locked door, watching her skin shift
from woman to seal and back again.
May / June 2023
Merie Kirby grew up in California and now lives in North Dakota. She teaches at the University of North Dakota. She is the author of two chapbooks, The Dog Runs On and The Thumbelina Poems. Her poems have been published in Mom Egg Review, Whale Road Review, SWWIM, FERAL, Strange Horizons, and other journals.
Art: Jennifer Peart. Mount Tallac, oil on linen, 10"x8"