i’m a different woman in every room              in the kitchen efficient              operative as fork
quiet in the bedroom                tiptoe to avoid discourse           the weight of telling you
everything is fine       nothing happened        in the bathroom confessional                 thoughts bend
into curve hungry as the dip that concludes my spine          the volume of forward                 of
woman who stays        in the nursery nostalgic            i summon the past        a love of distant
animals            whales               i recall a birth in the city          but corridors and orbits circle me
further back to a village fit for a child              to music recitals           where grandmothers pace
with wet hair                and always a radiola wails argentine protest songs                    in the living
room watchful          caution girdles my methods          i observe the strawberry i drop on the floor
upon which another might slip             everything is hardwood            formica shelves new but
coated in dust                parked in the driveway generous        i prepare the wits and gifts to present
believe i will sleep unaided      formless and flexible  like the babe in my belly           like the shape
of my tongue about to commit              no one is lonelier          than the woman who is loved

Image: “Strawberry-1” by علاء, used under CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons, / color enhanced from original.