Scurrying for undergrowth
away from the all-seeing world
I look to burrow,
digging deeply into timeless holes
that swallow me whole
as vintage wine.
I long to eclipse my being,
forgetting my name,
leaving my name tag
on the brink of a field
where I forfeit humanity
for sumptuous, feral fields.
Here, animal licks
and lioness quirks
are normal, wanted,
absorbed like osmosis.
Flung far, to the deepest reaches,
I womb myself in taller wheat,
erasing my humanness,
shadowed and immoral,
in the belly of a field
where innermost reaches
are internal organs.
Here. I’m a shrew or rat.
A bestial child
of God where I blaspheme,
writhe, blame, maim
in sharp, tall rushes that act as blades,
cutting myself loose
of society’s control
bearing a crow’s wing as a halo.
Here: lost, deprived,
hollowed out
of fleshy pulp
that lines someone else’s heart,
I breathe free,
stripping myself of bandages,
unwinding anxiety,
boasting noxious, tormenting threads,
until I’m reborn.
– Emma Wells
Emma is a mother and English teacher. She has poetry published with various literary journals and magazines. She writes flash fiction, short stories and novels. She is currently writing her sixth novel.