Zoë Bossiere

Into the Body of the Light 

The tattoo was thickly outlined in black with minimal detail, covering the entire top of his shaved head. On our first date, Will let me touch it. He bowed his head so I could trace my finger around the sly fox, mouth open to reveal a set of sharp white teeth, saliva dripping from his drooling tongue like the villain in so many fairy tales. We were the last two people awake after a house party, sitting on the front porch, watching the sun come up over the mountain range. The fox’s thirsty eyes and body curved toward his prey, a chicken, itself running toward the fox’s haunches, a chronic half-step ahead. I could feel the prickle of tiny hairs beneath the smooth, shaved skin