Small enough to crawl
in through the pet door
to my mind when I’m
all locked, so small
You nest a migraine
in my pillow, gall
my hallways like a noisy
clock, or, better,
You’re a doll and I’m the child
who would forget her
in a closet
though she coo and call,
left on, her voice box
stalling till the drawl
dissolves to empty howl,
a silent letter.
Except tonight Your volume
swells, gets stronger,
prouder, as the house
around You’s hushed—
alarms always seem loudest
when they’re wrong.
I damn the broke detector
wailing on,
but then there’s smoke.
Constricting rooms combust,
and You’re too big
to hide here any longer.