Melissa Evans
Dawning
A jackal
came to him,
black-backed;
pressed its russet
muzzle into his
dreams; allowed
a space for
his fear, for
the boy to rest
his head on its dark
saddle; tore
openings
in the cloud with
its call; let the moon
strike through.
The boy babbled;
his cusp
of speech laced
with la’s, with do,
with goo, with da’s, and
the jackal replied
silently; disclosed
the desert
chill to him with
its smile; the Danakil
depths, bluest
ravens scrawing
and dipping over
viridescent geysers,
acrid with salt.
It closed his eyelids
with its tongue;
lipped dialect
onto his palms;
became a contour;
the boy shredding
its cloud
with his own
rising call.
came to him,
black-backed;
pressed its russet
muzzle into his
dreams; allowed
a space for
his fear, for
the boy to rest
his head on its dark
saddle; tore
openings
in the cloud with
its call; let the moon
strike through.
The boy babbled;
his cusp
of speech laced
with la’s, with do,
with goo, with da’s, and
the jackal replied
silently; disclosed
the desert
chill to him with
its smile; the Danakil
depths, bluest
ravens scrawing
and dipping over
viridescent geysers,
acrid with salt.
It closed his eyelids
with its tongue;
lipped dialect
onto his palms;
became a contour;
the boy shredding
its cloud
with his own
rising call.
Melissa Evans lives and writes in Oxford, UK. She is interested in spaces where arts and sciences crossover, particularly studies in neurocognitive poetics. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Closed Eye Open, Cathexis Northwest Press, The Write Launch, Wingless Dreamer, and elsewhere.