Fox Magic

Miranda Sun

Blood runs quick, but
I am quicker. And in  
the same vein, I cut
my teeth down country
roads that are yellow dust
under yellow moon.
In the same vein, you
brush forests back
with your spare hand
and comb through
the undergrowth to find
me, a fox. A red roar
in the henhouse, eggs
cradled in my jaws
like stones in the mouth
of some great black river.
Body winding through
landscape through thicket
through den, dark and
cozy. I was carved for
the covert, the shadows
at your ankles. The keening
of the door as it gapes
open like a kind of magic.    

Miranda Sun is nineteen years old. An alumna of the NYS Summer Young Writers Institute and the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop, her work has been nationally recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and the Writers Alliance of Gainesville, and published in TRACK//FOUR, The Claremont Review, Sobotka, Body Without Organs, YARN, and more. She loves bubble tea and visiting aquariums. Find her on Twitter @heregoesthesun.

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