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NORTH WEST WORDS<br />
SPRING / SUMMER <strong>2018</strong> ISSUE 9<br />
Metamorphosis<br />
Spinal spikes poke through my skin,<br />
overlap along my back<br />
My coccyx stretches,<br />
drops a scaly tail on the kitchen floor<br />
The fire starts behind my eyes<br />
Spews from nasal holes<br />
Heat melts reason<br />
Reptile in my brain controls<br />
My lungs’ pink spongy tissue,<br />
rises like yeast dough,<br />
pushes on my rib cage<br />
I hear my voice box grow<br />
A bellow surges in my belly<br />
Propels me up the stairs<br />
Crashing over discarded paint<br />
I holler out your names<br />
You take refuge in the hot press<br />
Text your dad from there<br />
Come home quick<br />
We’re an endangered species<br />
After the mop up<br />
my tail contracts<br />
lungs subside<br />
my eyes are back in sockets<br />
But below my spleen<br />
a squamate grows<br />
bang in the middle<br />
of my stomach<br />
With a flick of tail<br />
from time to time<br />
she churns a bloom<br />
of guilty chyme<br />
Bernie Crawford<br />
36
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