Walking into wind

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.
At last,
something to fall into.

Josephine Clarke (Western Australia)

First published in Creatrix

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