Shell song

First published by ACON 2024 in ‘The Loud Way Home‘¹

My body is a sock;
an envelope
that I don’t clock.
There but
not much,
barely a crutch;
grubby, worn,
loose, unadorned.

This body’s my home
but I’m home alone,
                                          stateless.
It’s like a shell —
I only notice
when it’s unwell.
Giant acorn or goose-neck
barnacle shell.

My orbs track
every colour, quirk —  
but I’m camouflaged,
unseen.                            
My auricles ache    
for satisfying sound —
perversely,
I stay silent.

My sniffer’s aswarm
with scents —
but never mine.
I feast on subtlety, linger
unsated.
Touch is that heady drug
I won’t use
                       on myself.

My body’s a sock,
an envelope
that I don’t clock.
There but
not much. Self but   
no self. Merely
a shelf.

Shell sock.

1. This anthology of works by queer survivors of sexual abuse was launched on 12 October 2024 at The Red Rattler in Marrickville, Sydney. Fibre art by Catherin J Pascal Dunk 2024, yarnbombed and photographed at Terrigal Haven NSW 2025. ↩︎