‘The Silence of my Hellcat’ by Jenny Robb

One night, tired of TV, men and life,
I will summon my inner cat.
In bed, the room won’t seem dark.
I’ll sleep lightly, disturbed by scratches 
in the skirting, rustling leaves.

Next morning, porridge won’t appeal. 
I’ll open a tin of sardines,
lick it clean of silver-flecked oil. 
In the mirror, my hazel eyes will green.

I’ll shop at dawn and dusk,
devour raw chicken and mackerel.
My coccyx will itch and a black tail tip 
twitch. I’ll cut holes in my clothes
and wear baggy coats.

I’ll fear water 
but no longer care
about encroaching seas.
Embracing my black fur pelt,
I’ll learn to let out darkness. 

I’ll avoid the barbed dicks of Toms
with agile twists and turns
and become my familiar, 
practise killing,
pounce from four legs.

Abandoning my house
I won’t know life is short.  
Will not speak of extinction.
Will not speak at all.  

I will lick and relish the taste of blood.

Meet the Poet

Jenny, from Liverpool, is published in both online and print magazines and poetry anthologies. 2021 publications include Dream Catcher, Prole, Ink Sweat and Tears, Orbis, The Dawntreader and The Lighthouse Journal. Her debut pamphlet, The Doll’s Hospital will be published by Yaffle Press soon. She tweets at @jirobb .