She screams and I curl up a little more, a little tighter hiding from the tantrums building outside. The older one starts yelling and I am in my shell I can’t hear a thing.
Inside me is a thin, glamorous woman dying to get out to go to parties with other glamorous adults talk about beautiful things.
It’s bedtime and she’s not asleep the screaming follows me around the house my husband glares at me and snarls can’t you do something? I feel myself growing round and smooth pearling around the pit in my stomach.
Inside me is a rational woman dying to go do rational things. This angry, unkempt thing digging holes in her palms is not me.
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in Plainsongs, The Long Islander, and The Nashwaak Review. Her newest poetry collections are In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press), A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), Folios of Dried Flowers and Pressed Birds (Cyberwit.net), Where We Went Wrong (Clare Songbirds Publishing), Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), and Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing).