Frenzy crashes over every south-facing part of me,
grabbing my lobes and rushing into them,
raking my hair as far as it will go.
I am reminded that we are on a spinning globe
and the air is racing between vacuums,
spilling itself over me, under my cuffs,
pressing against my skin like a shout,
snaking inside my collar, down my shirt front.
As if walking into a sculptor’s mould,
I am made aware of the shape of me,
where I am vulnerable, my inadequate armour.
It is a relief.
something to fall into.
Josephine Clarke (Western Australia)
First published in Creatrix