Marshland Fox
by Kayla Harris
From soggy eelgrass
of shrimp and clams and crabs
where high tides rush in
the bay floods from the ocean
the heron hovers over small pools,
two red fox trot through the wind-swept
water-logged landscape.
Planks of wood and
crab traps left,
by the retreating tide,
they wade into the water
rinsing furred padded toes
drenched in dark mud.
Marking scent in the tall grass,
the tod leads the vixen
with night-vision
scanning the marsh
for small furry rodents:
scurry, warm, and beating.
Between the coastal squeeze,
throughout homes and the marsh,
clawed toes find the cold dirt.
No space left for
stored spots scattered.
The foxes sleep
in the open or in a den
blanketed with twigs and leaves
facing the wind for scents
through small intervals of rest
curled-up in the thickness of their tail
cunning for what’s to come.