Pills on the table,
Burnt toast abandoned on the counter,
Dregs of coffee in a floral cup;
Someone's been here.

If you look in the mirror and
See her blue-bruised eyes,
****** Mary about to
Go out to the bars for the night?
That was once my mirror.

I haunt everywhere I choose to live,
And you can't sit at my table without
Drinking the wine I've drunk.
Get ready to feel.

I don't find myself here often,
Sugar grainy under my nails at the quick,
But something bitter sleeping under
The corners of my tongue.
Chasing myself through dark rooms
And thinking,
"I miss something sweet.
I must be an oyster."

Whose floor did I sleep on
And leave a shadow behind?
In what grass have I vomited,
To leave myself standing there greeting strangers?

"That's my house,"
She points into the darkness behind her,
Or out of the mirror and into your room,
Or at a lightning-struck tree trunk on the side of a fast and lonely road.
"That's my house."