From the duvet



You have made yourself a home among my sheets, 
at the end of my bed. 
My feet brush against you, as I sleep at night 
and revulsion makes its cold way up my esophagus.
I’ve decided to sleep in a fetal position.
My knees high up, pressure against my
chest, feet scurrying away, afraid, until you 
finally decide to leave.

In the morning, I wake up with you 
clinging to the third rib of my right ribcage.
Lungs crying choked sighs out my lips. 
Maybe it’s a tumor. 
Don’t joke about tumors, honey
It’s unkind
But it’s unkind to grow exponentially larger 
at night, and take over my bed.


Unwanted guest, scurrying between my legs, 
as I drag my toes on carpet towards the kitchen. 
You sit alone at the table and watch me make breakfast: 
red plums in my pockets.
I walk away from your hollow face, 
which now walks to the frosted 
window of the back wall.

Before I leave, I lock you in my room 
with some dry food and water; 
the clack the lock makes behind me 
feels like the fastening of fat buttons 
on sweat-soaked jackets. 
I face the walls of wind outside my home, 
because I’ve read I should call it home 
so that it feels more mine.

But you wave at me from the window and I 
turn my face away from you, 
knowing that by the time I come back 
you will be waiting at the end of that bed. 
Red sheets, among my socks and unwashed dishes, 
the poems unwritten, atop the box I label melancholy, 
baring your fangs at the sunlight that hits 
the pale bouquet from overseas.


Lista de imágenes:

1. Anna Shteynshleyger, City of Destiny (Seascape).
2. Darla Winn, It Hits Deeper.