I open you up and crawl inside
your belly, petite frame
where your organs
should be. Heat builds
in your bowels,
soaking into bone.
I run my hands along your
insides, fingers scolded with
blisters: the air warm,
visible, trembling against
your yellow ribs. I try to protect
my bare flesh, shifting
to gain relief. I stretch,
skin tight from dry air
as I become leather.
I collapse, body
spread among your stomach,
my arms and legs slipping
into your hooves.
My parched lips let out a
shout, a low groan escaping
your throat. The roar
of the crowd outside rattles
our bronze bones,
smoke billowing through
our nostrils,
as I melt
from the inside out.
Melinda Dubbs hails from Fishers, Indiana and is earning a MA in Social Work at IUPUI. She earned her BA in English and Psychology at Indiana University Bloomington. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tipton Poetry Journal, Prairie Margins, Glass Mountain, and Nanoism, among others. Her poem “Indiana Night” placed first in the 2012 Melba Geoffroy Poetry Contest. Her outside interests include red pandas, spelunking, and playing indie games “you’ve probably never heard of”. Visit her blog.
