'She-Bear' by Shon Mapp

Period Panties
A spectacle of pale pink stock soaks in our bathroom sink. Afterwards, I scrub them until my hands become prunes.

Theft
Nicole stops by unannounced one morning. We drink coffee in the kitchen while she prattles on about needing the balance of a man. She says that there’s too much estrogen in this space, not that it isn’t nice. I don’t respond, only study her unfurled locs and hunched posture. Almost recognizable after years of missed calls and unreturned messages, I watch her gel set claws click-clack against the phone screen. In an instant, she slinks to the floor. On her hands and knees, she grips the hardwood, transfixed by scent. Expelling a few breathy huffs towards the hallway, her wet nose twitches. She asks to use the bathroom and saunters off. Minutes pass before Nicole returns erect and composed. I should go. Tell your wife I said hi. At the front door, we limply hug our goodbyes, her purse trailing pale pink droplets down my driveway.

Salmon Run
Before I recognized myself as prey, you held the high ground, wading at the crest, slack jawed and watchful. For years, we returned to the same river, spent seasons co-existing while you gorged on the others. Each time that I weaved between your paws unscathed, it steeled my fortitude for the journey ahead.

The October I was heavy with roe, you must’ve spotted me at the boil line. I remember the deafening rush of the rapids and my white muscles bursting with ache. In a single bound, I hurled my body above the sill and into the spray. You seized the opportunity and bared your soul to me for the first and only time.