Content Warning: violence, gore
Nóra Blascsók – Down Under
When I asked her why they changed she said it was a kind of camouflage, they went from eating seaweed to wearing it, clumps hanging off crevices, skin viscous and green, they tiptoed in a group like spectacular water bird flock, eyes watchful for danger. Dripping juices seeped into the sand spreading like brooks into the sea of murk. A monster emerged growling wet, waiting to pounce when they were close enough. Their disguise slowly disintegrating, bare skin flashing in the sunlight. Nowhere to hide. The creature, teeth sharpening loudly, jumped on the first one, tore off a limb. Screaming, scattering, a pile of seaweed, the monster feasting atop.
Nóra Blascsók is a Hungarian poet based in Manchester. Her most recent poems can be found in bath magg, Acumen and Atrium. Her debut pamphlet titled <body> of work </body> will be published by Broken Sleep Books in June 2022.
Photograph: The Rarest Color by Raegen Pietrucha
Raegen Pietrucha writes, edits, and consults creatively and professionally. Her chapbook, An Animal I Can't Name, won the 2015 Two of Cups Press competition; her debut poetry collection, Head of a Gorgon, is forthcoming with Vegetarian Alcoholic Press in May; and she has a memoir in progress. She received her MFA from Bowling Green State University, where she was an assistant editor for Mid-American Review. Her work has been published in Cimarron Review, Puerto del Sol, and other journals. Connect with her at raegenmp.wordpress.com and on Twitter @freeradicalrp.