This piece was originally published in Quarto’s 2019 Spring Print Edition.
Illustration by Gisela Levy
The dogs are out
and the world could fit in my fingers
if i would let it.
For i have become a hairy phantom
that lingers.
i have broad shoulders
and a belly
and i can’t remember this face that stares back
and a cold wind blows in the holes
of this hallowed house.
My toes curl and flicker.
And i don’t recognize
the hands that cradle the world.
There’s a song one whispers
through these frigid breezes
that coaxes me out to pray.
So i swallow my faucets and showerheads,
listen to the pipes wilt in the walls
and fill my fists with hair
to paint myself
prettier than this body allows.
i think
i am standing by the kitchen window
watching them play
as my eyes wander like a frigid wind
looking over the foreign
face
that stares back at me from the window’s mirror.
i’ve become a glaring pantoum
which eats itself
like the godecho
of my father’s voice
remember where you came from.
Call me Helen
and let the world speak for me
while i’m gone.