I wear you on the outside now-- Legs jangling, Arms embracing, Little hands making do. I watch your Botticelli eyelids Stretched taught In the rapture Of a first autumn wind. I wear you on the outside now-- Belly to belly We move sideways Like dancing carps, Mirrorwise, Circling our food. I wear you on the outside now-- And in the corner of your chirping mouth I gape And glimpse the timbre of your soul. I wear you on the outside now— And finally know What I am for: For turning inside out.
-- Maryellen Davis Collett is an Associate Professor of Theology at Lewis University. She has been writing poetry since childhood. She lives in the Lincoln Square neighborhood of Chicago with her husband, Keith, and baby daughter, Maya Marie.