20 January 2006 | Vol. 5, No. 4

Inventory of My Room in the Morning

by SHONNA SKARDA

The hem of the curtain hits

the windowsill like a riding whip.

To the finish line.

    This is where we are going.

Wooden birds are suspended

from the ceiling by wire.

    This is how we get there.

A dresser drawer was left

open all night.

    You are an insomnia.