The Roosting Time

Where did the days go, / the minutes / the seconds? / To think that there was / no life at all / and that I dreamt it all? / The pregnancies, / the pain, / chortling babies / on my lap! / The babies / grew into strangers, / strange foes who carried / in their scabbards / sharpened words, / strangers who bore / in their hearts / great padlocked doors. / No, I have not entered / their interiors / for fear of falling / into an abyss of scorn. / I run away from / living things / while my feet swell / like eco-unfriendly / sweet potatoes / grown out of season. / I disown these balloons / of feet, my pretty parts. / I disown / these ugly protuberances. / If I gain some respite, / some strength / I shall not write wills / that bequeath / my meagre possessions / for fear of amusing / my biographers— / few bangles of gold, / a dented medal / won at school. Words / of a stray madness / scribbled in the night / using my felt pens / a biographer sent by courier. / She alone sends me / any gifts by courier, / from Quebec’s Laurentians. / This may be because / she finds significance / in my responses. / Being my biographer / she is in no hurry / to write the final chapter / or my epilogue / that deals with my end, / the ignominy of being / undressed by strangers. / Strange hands / prodding / probing / for evaluation / of personal essence. / The soul will baulk / at human touch / and turn away / in fright. / Who did I belong to? / Whose asset was I? / There are bellies / and bellies / and all empty. / I am a series of / emptiness / assembled / without care, / a monarch’s feast / gone waste... / I shall not be a friendly corpse. / If vultures eat me, / they shall perish / of a stomach ache. / I taste of insulin, / I taste of bromides / and codeine. / I devoured life, / chewed it around / like a mint gum / till it became / insipid rubber, / offal of what it was / when I had believed / in the possibilities / of love. / I was the one / always in a hurry, / in a hurricane’s haste, / a Cinderella / of the present / twenty-first century. / Do you see me / or do you avert your eyes / when I pass your way?