By John Randall Dodd, Soldotna
Can you hear the echoes of bliss'd past
betwixt the beats of this hysterical heart?
The shadow of self that reflects in this mirror,
yellow now, always yellow!
This room, this cell, this well kempt prison,
these patterned walls that now start
to close in, that morph into me, my shape,
my supposed form! I, once more mellow;
my physician husband loved,
loves more than the current self become?
I can see it now, clearer than once before;
each day, hour, minute, with e'ery second
passed I pass into, o'er, across, transformed
more into this yellow'd color. Some-
times I feel the textured grip of it
upon my own skin. I reckon
I am this peeling paper
tearing from these walls, this yellow shell
being ripped away at; e'ery day becoming
something else, something more
than what my self was before,
before being confined unto this yellow hell!
The woman once loved by my husband
is no more, only me now, yellow'd to the core.
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