Wandering Wombs by Kate Ellis

I’m welcomed into a gang with rigid curtness,

hardened hearts and deflector shields.

We all curse our pliancy.

Those moment’s orifices opened.

They were not made for rent.

And yet here we find ourselves

Caves and cobwebs.

A prolapse.

Call us the hystericals.

We are indeed wandering wombs.

Seeded by a lack of understanding.

Erected by fear.


There is a bitterness now to things that keeps my lips taut.

I dig my nose into a rose

hungry for Venus.