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Shell

Is this what I'm wearing?

He thought, not aloud,

Silk and lace, little face, eyes fully browed?

No! Said the photo,

We have but one thing in common

We are captives of your frame!

And downward he bowed.

Is this what I'm wearing?

He cried, in a fit,

Old khakis, belt and keys, eyes through the slit?

No! Said the guard,

We have just one thing in common,

We are captors of your soul!

And backward he split.

What am I wearing then?

Out aloud he this spoke,

To the bars on the window, to the face in the smoke.

Know! Said the mirror,

We have everything in common,

We are pictures of your cell!

And inward he broke.

Raman Ramsin

2005

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