Between the red ferns, my belly roars

one person’s growl,

is another person’s piano music,

as soft as young laughter.

 

Between my red ferns,

not but an inch of skin is clear

from the stretching.

 

They put several of me into jars,

I grew larger and more reluctant,

and the scars came

from the stretching.

 

2014 prompt to use certain words in a poem.