When I talk about crabs
I’m not talking about crabs.
When I talk about that sideways
shuffle,
that tip toe movement scratching
across the floor
in the middle of the night
I’m not talking about crabs.
When I talk about that
hard carapace, abandoned,
the soft form seeking
shade and shelter,
predator made prey,
I’m not talking about crabs.
When I talk about those claws
gripping, tearing,
and the scars they left,
my body changed,
predator made prey,
I’m not talking about crabs.
You know that, right?
Submitted to the toads – Tuesday Platform.
Sarah writes poems 
Wow.. this is amazingly well written… the layers!!
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As one survivor to another…I love this.
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Thank you! And nice to meet another one ☺️
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This is so deeply touching.. a powerful portrayal of survival, Sarah.
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This is strong… can we ever talk about the crab without talking latin…
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I can’t. Though I wish I could find a more subtle symbol sometimes.
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I know that,
predator made prey.
Anna :o]
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Powerful and thought provoking……and yes I know that for sure!
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Thank you for dropping by!
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Thank you for reading and commenting. Appreciated.
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This invites the reader in and then demands they witness the pain in the lines. Powerful.
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Thanks for your comments. It’s hard to know when a poem works.
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Great poem! You put so many layers into this Sarah. I will have to read it a couple more times.
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Scuttles along the dark floor of a life, a heart. It takes a metaphor in a poem to tear through to the really vulnerable inner stuff, and the refrain — “I’m not talking about crabs” — keeps deadly aim. Great work.
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Thank you, Brendan. I appreciate your reading.
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This blew me away! Crabs, I thought at
first, seriously, crabs? And then behold…
I will be re-reading this for a while! Bravo!!!!!!
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