Poems & Essays

21 Oct

Snail

Toddlers to Teens No Response

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).

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Yellow Waking Mother October 21, 2019 The Conversation October 21, 2019