I had to block out
windows hide reflections
light bouncing off snow blue all over
a bit of
pale pink inside feeling of flesh
and so cold return
to the womb room and rest
eyelids no match for this brightness
but close my eyes and imagine the maps and trees
a long way on foot
to reach this place scent
of leather and sweat
in the cave of sleep
brain awash in medicine pray
My life now: a white
I wake early, rearrange a few small objects
on the white desk. Roll over in the white sheets.
My bruises stark against the pale backdrop.
Do I feel confined?
Clean slate, blank canvas upon which to draw
my body. There is a slight sheen to the walls.
I push against them, expecting some give,
as though I were inside something organic.
I place and replace images on the walls.
Black marks on a white page,
Page of my bed, my body curved punctuation
desire the weather in this room to which I have
The layout of my
family’s first apartment
ripping through thin walls
lilied wallpaper. The bathroom
in the basement, where we were afraid to go.
Downstairs dog bones, spiders,
and the ghost of memories—
the morning twilight of childhood, when our underwear
removed, soiled, hidden in the corner,
under the stairs.
neighbor’s room above the garage.
When my bike skidded out on the gravel at the end
driveway, and I broke my leg,
stood above me,
drying your hands on a kitchen towel,
asking me where it hurt,
me to show you. The words
wouldn’t work. You picked me up.
hand on my bottom. You tried to
find my mother. You brought me in your
The smell of oil, sawdust, something
I couldn’t yet identify.