issue 24 > poetry > robinson

A strange woman has invaded
my house. There's a footfall
on the stair, strong cologne
in the bath. As I walk down the hall,
a shadow slips past.

Behind my face in the mirror,
I glimpse another face, hear
a voice murmur, Nice place you've got.
Insidious. Covetous.
Falsely polite.

I've locked all the doors,
made a fortress in the attic.
I sneak downstairs to eat,
then silently retreat. Lately
she's been quiet. I can wait.