These Stone Benches

Those things I thought I knew

come crashing down the stairs,

broken ornaments, beveled closet doors,

remembering memories in the dark

surrounded by childhood’s curtains

burned long ago to let in the light

of a timid day;

pressed clay bathroom jars,

pottery and Potiphar, Pharaoh at the door,

a sphinx mounting the toilet.

I cannot shower without a riddle.

I sit on these stone benches,

feeling their weight below me.


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