ESSAY As our shapes re-emerge from the thinning steam, Sheila pushes the button and once more we disappear. She repeats this ritual in silence until my hands and the soles of my feet are wrinkled. I don’t want to leave this white hard shell. I want to stay here forever, tucked away from the world. Invisible. Safe.
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The Night Had Claws
Atma Frans
In her writing Atma Frans searches for the voice beneath her personas: woman, mother, trauma survivor, queer, yogi, architect, poet. Her work has been published in The New Quarterly, Arc Poetry Magazine, Understorey Magazine, Obsessed with Pipework and (forthcoming) in The Dalhousie Review, among others. She lives in Gibsons, BC. Canada.
