Place, Places
By Melvin Dixon
The first night you were gone
I heard fingers clawing from the closet
walls. Some mouse maybe, some
thing was caught between stud beams
and plaster. All next day
it tried to dig through, to nest
in your sheets and blankets
tiny paws, teeth, and nose
in a desperate bid for air.
Then all was quiet.
I looked for the gnawed exit,
the footprints, any other signs
of quick release, but nothing found.
Slowly filling from room to room
was the smell of dead flesh and fur.
I opened every window against
the silence and the odorous fusion
of bones into the architecture.
I cleaned the closet anyway,
emptied trash, washed dishes
I had dirtied all alone, remade
the bed with each corner in tight.
Here in full view is a place for me
again. You come home hungry, tired.
And I return from a different journey,
my hands stirring the air, air.
Notes:
This poem was previously published in Love’s Instruments (Tia Chucha Press, 1995) and is part of the portfolio “Melvin Dixon: I’ll Be Somewhere Listening for My Name.” © Melvin Dixon and used with permission of the author’s estate. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.
Source:
Poetry
(April 2024)