What’s wrong with gaps and odd corners?

At night Petra wanders around a sleeping
house looking for a corner to fill. She lights
candles and considers poems on dark pages.

She does not pray to her father’s god.
They have not been on speaking terms
for quite some time now, her mouth is empty.

Stuck between a screen and a door, a narrow gap.
She stands in the middle ground encased behind
glass, the door is locked and no one is awake.

Her humid summer leaves bedclothes damp
against her skin. She sings to herself
but the song leaves bitter drops on her tongue.

She stands eating cold cherries out
of a bowl and cracks a tooth on a stray pit.
An avocado seed splits open exposing tender leaves.

The night peels her skin back and her bookmark
has pressed a reminder space upon the page,
better than dog-eared corners and an empty grave.



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