6.03.2004
The Visit
I leaned on the spine of a book
that felt like a live arm. Even the clothes on your floor
were warm. With a pencil, I drew bodies on the backs of my resumes
and listened for your shaky voice.
I dislike this old house with its fancy wainscoting.
Something racist about it.
But I like
the mess you made in it
and your reaching
to tuck my hair behind my ear.
There is always a ghostliness
in beds far from home.
One gets over it.
On one of my walks,
I found junk, plastic figurines, in the pockets
of your jacket. I wrapped my fingers around them,
surprised by a rush of heat
in my chest and throat.
Lately, I am turning birdlike. My breathing has quickened
and I swallow differently
than before.
I leaned on the spine of a book
that felt like a live arm. Even the clothes on your floor
were warm. With a pencil, I drew bodies on the backs of my resumes
and listened for your shaky voice.
I dislike this old house with its fancy wainscoting.
Something racist about it.
But I like
the mess you made in it
and your reaching
to tuck my hair behind my ear.
There is always a ghostliness
in beds far from home.
One gets over it.
On one of my walks,
I found junk, plastic figurines, in the pockets
of your jacket. I wrapped my fingers around them,
surprised by a rush of heat
in my chest and throat.
Lately, I am turning birdlike. My breathing has quickened
and I swallow differently
than before.
