Renardly so

Today I’m the sun,
shining on arctic permafrost.
An exquisite,
inquisitive fox
cuts a dash.

Sometimes,
I write foxy tales
about Jambeau Renard—
dreaming of fame
as an author.

Sometimes,
I’m hella angry
re my Origin Story—
such that I could snarl,
and bite. And do.

But I’m always wide-
eyed, twitching for scent,
swathed in purple;
listening for terns,
as the earth does.

If I asked the ice to hold firm,
the answer would be sun
sparkling on permafrost.
A cheeky arctic fox
skitters past.¹

1. I wrote this poem in response to a prompt provided by the wondrous poet Paris Rosemont (via Adrian Mouhajer @ Red Room Poetry) at a free WestWords workshop in Earlwood library, Sydney, in April 2025. Image is from Pexels Free Photos. ↩︎