i am telling you i’m outside myself
             in the room behind the door

behind the door the light is on
             & i am home

i promise i am not lost
             in the grocery wandering

about my four lemons & a pair of socks
             i gathered you in my basket

with a bushel of keys i need these
             for the plane ride back somewhere

i can’t think of what door
             do i stand behind

it’s on the tip of my name the door
             that i stand behind the box

where my head goes where my dinner
             lives where children make

potted plants become swing sets
             every library i dream

of the afternoon where we hung
             pinecones from a cheek

& waited for winged mammals
             to turn another branch

my children lived inside the telephone
             it never remembers

who i go or where i leave my numbers
             she walked into the citrus & never

turned sideways that’s what they’ll collect
             about me when i am

on my shelf behind a door
             deep inside a cupboard

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