Donkeyskin

by Midori Snyder

There was the sight

Grey and monstrous, rubbed with ashes and grit

Father's skin in the moonlight, shadows from my door

His jaw stretching into the room

There was the smell

Rank and cloying, the tang of smoked flesh

Father's exhalations on the surface of my skin

A tooth decayed from a hunger for sweets

There was the sound

Parchment crackle as I coiled, a tail sweeping the rushes

Father's breathing harsh, labored as his

Feet slid over the stones to my bed

There was the feel

Stiff and dried, the sinews couched threads

Father's parched hand on my wrist, roped fingers

Snaring my rebellious pulse

There was the taste

Tannery salt, rubbed into the cured flesh

Father's hand over my mouth

The tidal sweat of his palm stinging my lips

Beneath the donkeyskin I lived

Embraced by arched ribs of ivory

Father clamored over the dead skin, but could not

Find me curled in the belly

Later, I stitched the skin to my sides

And fled into the night, the cutting edge of

Hooves striking the granite stones

Shedding stars to light my way.