Galway Review 8 - April 2020

Anne Marie Kennedy i
SNARED
The full-grown, plump rat was caught by a back leg and
straight meaty tail in the vice jaws of the metal trap.
His head jerked towards me, coal black pupils
beseeching, frightened jewels blinking from above the
grey-brown, whiskered snout.
My first step should have taken me past the
wicker coffee table, step two should have concealed my
bare feet behind the turf basket from where I would
reach the poker.
I’d do for him if he made for door or chimney, pulling the
trap behind him like a pony – but my feet were welded to
the floor, soles numb against worn stone tiles, neck
sweaty, white cotton nightie fisted in between knees and
thighs.
I thought of a good brother, a decent father, the
avuncular figures, all the male ameliorating forces of my
childhood.
I missed them.
I saw my vulnerable thirty-year-old reflection in the
black, rain-pelted window, listened to my sobs rupturing
the silence, fully realising the sad reality of my life.
I too had been trapped like the rat, attracted too young
to the bait of coupledom.
I had walked up the aisle in a white frock, high heels and
frothy tights, knelt at cold marble rails, said ‘I do,’ ‘I will,’
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