Snare

by Angela Arnold

Such a thin band of despair,
shaped with all the care of a parent
snugging a child's scarf. The kiss
of death a prolonged affair,
kicking the habit of living
with a lust and a zest and a violent
longing for air –
the circlet's neat grip
making it a monstrous appetite.
Feet still dreaming.
A telling hollow there
just a foot from where greenstuff
would have been made complicit.
The magic attraction
dangled just-so inviting plain
habit: lured home; beguiled
to venture into another
pale Grass Moon night.
A dog's bark in the distance perhaps
the last flippant comment
on a life now left as hairy powder,
forgotten bone. The final insult.
Some mighty Human
never even clucked in triumph.

​Angela Arnold (she/her) lives in Wales. She’s also an artist, a creative gardener and an environmental campaigner. Her poems have been published in print, anthologies and online, in the UK and elsewhere. Collection: In Between (Stairwell Books, 2023). Twitter: @AngelaArnold777