YOUR CHILDHOOD HOME, APARTMENT, CUBICLE CAN NOW FIT IN THE PALM OF YOUR HAND
is anyone home?
they’re too small-
have ears like microbes
tongues like fleas
there’s a house
with a white picket fence
and blood on the floor
scars stitched in the skin
like zippers on the backs of dolls
they can’t see it
if you cover it up-
wear long sleeves,
turtlenecks,
coats in the summer,
beads,
eyeshadow,
the head of a goat….
turn the music up
they can’t hear you panting
it feels warm
after you’ve been hit
curled up on the bed
nails like a dog
scratching to get out
knock on the pipes, she says
and i will hear you
but it’s much worse
when she listens
it’s love like a torn shoe
in the desert
it’s love like a mouse hole
under the bed
more poetry by tricia warden can be found here
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