breeze

Published by

Iona Winter

on

in the city flags hang limp waiting for the breeze to perform

fire escape stairwells rust while refuse expands in black plastic

dysmorphic bodies move and i cannot catch my breath

but at home the wind will rip meat from my bones lifting my gaze from the interior

the birds will huddle

i realise i’ve always been the one on the outside who keeps the others warm

in this shadow of myself is the impetus for change

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