Walls
My room does not have
four walls:
curving and caving,
I trace hollows over the paint,
bumping over the bodies
of insects brushed clean
in Victorian Pewter gray.
I have counted seven walls
in my room:
bumping and falling,
curving and caving
with the hollows
of bugs and the hollows
of whispers and the shadow
of one person in a bed
made for two.
A little bit about the author:
Emily Uduwana (she/her) is a poet and graduate student based in Southern California. Her most recent work has appeared in issues of Stone of Madness Press, Rogue Agent Journal, and perhappened mag.
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