Inside Out

by Susan Marshall

 

 

Walls like roasted peppers

and the inside of my womb

scattered with bits

and scraps of childhood

            and friends

                        and costumes.

Futon unfurled

And instruments

everywhere

            the instruments of your anger and your love

                        and rebellion and

joy.

But uninhabited in this crisis.

So I crawl into the

cocoon of this womb

to tend to the suffering

peering outside as no cars pass by.

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