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.