I’d been away for a while,
perhaps for too long.
See, a few weeks back,
I shirked out of my skin
and left it in a pile
on our soft bed.
Though empty of me,
the pile must have still breathed,
woken, stretched, cleaned,
eaten, walked, preened.
Meanwhile, I
a pearly white sight,
trudged through miles
of meadow
in summer-flush night.
Nothing to break my
skeletal stride.
I’d been away for a while,
so when I returned,
and shirked my cold skin
back over snow bones-
I did not feel at home.
I fear that I’d been gone
for too long.
For now, I’m homesick
with my skin suit on.
Nothing feels right.
My skin is too tight,
and all of this bright
is terribly wrong.
But people say
that in our skin
is where we must belong.
I’d been away for a while.
Perhaps for too long.
pm poetry 