Vulnerable by Elma Mitchell
Everything is vulnerable at sunrise.
Houses are blurred at the edge by the creeping light.
They are not yet upright, not yet property.
Inside the houses
Bodies and beds are still to be disentangled,
Naked, bearded, sheeted, flowing, breathing,
With no cosmetic except the morning’s colouring
No body has had time to put on its uniform
To arm itself with the safe and usual phrases,
To start counting, considering, feeling hungry,
Being man or woman …
This poem is *chef’s kiss* Reminds me of autistic masking.
