My body is a bomb shelter
Strong. Afraid of its purpose.
I am my anger.
A thing built of necessity; a Cancer,
More useful when quiet. Beneath the surface
My body is a bomb shelter,
Most alive when needed but my voice is strangled.
My explosion is silent and certain.
I am my anger.
A reflection of a woman the world only sees at an angle
She screams into the mirror:
My body is a bomb shelter.
The potential of all the words she could say,
The weight of them now only burden.
I am my anger.
Throat raw, nothing more than cavernous hangar,
Inner self grasping for purchase, for purpose.
My body is a bomb shelter.
I am my anger.
This article appears in Jan 26 – Feb 2, 2017.