I tried very hard (well a bit hard) to fit the official NaPoWriMo prompt about the strange names of heritage variety vegetables into my poem, but otters don’t care much for vegetables (which is why this zoo in Birmingham smuggles them into sushi, which they do like). What I really wanted to do was write a love poem for my husband, so that’s what I did.
Assessing My Significant Otter
When she asked me to describe you, I could have said
the north sea to a fishtank
is his heart to this small, bland room.
When she asked what she had missed, I could have said
there is a tangle of black razorwire deep down inside,
can he unspool it safely in this benign, neutral room?
When she asked me how this is affecting us, I could have said
he calls me to the window to watch the goldfinches.
When we sleep we hold hands like otters,
so we never drift apart.