Barely - Megan Martin

Soap froths and oozes obediently, 

inciting its ecstatic pilgrimage— 

Microscopic whirling dervishes, 

encased, enraptured, 

bubbles laughing the whole way down my skin. 

Frantic hairs sprout up in places hair-seeds never belonged— 

Lines are carved like wagon trails— 

Pioneering through the fragile membranes of 

a flesh that should have, somehow, stayed 

unobserved, unexplored, 

should have remained a sanctuary, 

and yet— 

Curving slopes, hills, ravines 

morph and tremble with fault lines, 

betrayed by vengeful shadows from a low-hanging sun. 

My distant terrain— 

I can barely hear the growing dissonance between 

The timelessness I feel 

And the aging body I reside in.