My insides are outside, strewn and clumped together, leaking out of my clothes, covering the floor. I have been cut down, mown, and used for fodder. My insides sit next to me, a tangle. My insides grow outside, swallowing up the electrical lines and the homes, your home. You, satisfied and whole, only see the overcast sky, the sweet promise of rain.
You don’t see the spark, the rage, the rage, my rage—
is the inferno that burns us up.
'Woman, Scarecrow', After "No Trespassing" by Andrea Kowch, 30" x 24" acrylic on canvas.