Walls

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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