In The Middle

I’m stuffed inside a handbag
making friends with balled up tissues,
Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar wrappers,
the gaps of forgotten inhalers.
I don’t sit in the corner anymore.
I stand in the middle and feel able
to ask pockets of dust how they are,
tell them about the way clouds come
and go, let my insides turn into my outsides.
I stopped asking where we’re going
some time ago. An open diary
picks me up and walks us to a place
where time wants us to be safe.