poetry workshop #1

[lorelea]

The upstairs parlor bathroom
has sixteen gleaming lightbulbs
and a diamond-shaped mirror,
the figurines still arranged --
two prancing palaminos,
a cherubim jewelry box.
My grandmother’s talcum puff
a languishing sea urchin
in a cream paste-papered drawer.

I sit at the vanity
and play with these trinkets a
last time, noticing myself --
fingers grown long but bitten,
blushless cheeks and thick eyelids.
Beyond the door I can hear
the house like a dying star,
collapsing on itself down
the stairs in cardboard boxes.