.................................
Sleepwalking
.................................

Pressed between a stranger's back and concrete wall
my molecules separate,

slip through greasy paint and mortar, settle in lumped order
in the yard.

Ankles drown in midnight rye.
I wade to the streetlight, thick buzz and steady heat

color of the taxi driver's voice who leans out a car door
and shakes me together,

molds shriveled fingers long again
and whispers

in the city, the sleeping are so quickly the dead
as she parts the sea

between street and kitchen door, delivers me to porch light
and the cold muffle of a full house.

I swear this is the first time but listen:
eyes never tell whole truth

and rain is metronome, counting beats of my moth heart.
I go to the light, lady.

My panties drip on to the tile.
Can't blame me for seeking comfort,

taxi motor meter groaning. Harmony is good --
blood pumping needs harmony.

Your swollen cheek needs a brush of skin to clean
vinyl grime streaking down that gelatin neck,

I taste your gas, know bitterness in my thighs.
Come in from the wet. I'm nearly dry.

.................................
shelle m. barton
.................................

 
Copyright © shelle m. barton
March 1997

...a poem in in this room by Holly Day...
the moon over the sea of japan
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