Elizabeth Mann

janus

The dead shark has hiccups.
A man kneels by her side,
hands clasped, and drives 

a knife into her belly.
The wound releases
a spill of flesh:

only the blooded silk
of offal, and silence.
Then another kick,

leagues under the skin. 
He lays his palm down 
to listen, blind man 

attending a burial, 
a birth. The knife point 
finds the spot

goes in harder, deeper. 
He carves a broad slit
and forces himself in

past the wrist, 
draws out a pup by the tail
still swagged in its milky sack.

It swings, limp,
then hurls a whiplash of teeth 
at his hand —

misses. 
He pulls out two more 
and throws them 

one by one
past the shallows
into the maw of the sea.

Elizabeth Mann was born and raised on the edge of the Fens, but has since lived in the North, Scotland, Spain, the USA and the Philippines. She holds an MLitt in Creative Writing from the University of St Andrews and was shortlisted for the Flambard Prize.