Something new
moves within me.
I am leased
to a small, nameless tenant,
who rummages
in the rooms of my body,
rearranging the furniture
in the middle of the night.
Until now,
I had always been sure
of the soft,
but established boundary
of where I
ended
and the neighbours
began.
My body has become serious.
I sit by the front window.
Ready for anything.
My head cocked like a gun.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
Something new
moves within me.
I am leased
to a small, nameless tenant,
who rummages
in the rooms of my body,
rearranging the furniture
in the middle of the night.
Until now,
I had always been sure
of the soft,
but established boundary
of where I
ended
and the neighbours
began.
My body has become serious.
I sit by the front window.
Ready for anything.
My head cocked like a gun.
See the visual poem at
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0dt_9DgshGc
Poetmonger YouTube
Text previously published by Other Voices, Canada, 2004
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