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 