By Laura Hamblin
I take my lizard skin in mouth, that which was moist, now transparent and dry. It once enclosed my being held me together. But it does no longer. I do not shed it to discard it. Rather, I retire to a solitude. Here, under stone, I eat my veins and scales, making internal the external. Listen softly-- behind the hum of cicadas you can hear the epidermis tear and my newborn-self scream. Laura Hamblin
