San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

Helaina Pisar McKibbon
LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW AT NIGHT FROM A LIT ROOM
 
I watch my room sail into night
as my lamps light the sky like a buoy,
and my table floats high on the air.
The blinds wink with a street light
as the bed tumbles out of the window,
and the dresser swims out with the moon.
I soar above roof tops and clouds
and intrude on the night.
 
I think I hear the crash of walls
when the stucco outside meets the plaster inside,
when the door of the room opens onto the street,
and a building moves into the gap.
Though the window is closed, I shiver
as the cold of the night seeps in.
I wade between roof tops and clouds,
And the night lies in wait.
 
I see my face in reflection
when the dark drains the blood from my flesh,
and my colors run into the night.
The window frame sections my chest,
and a crack in the gate outside
cuts my cheek in a long bloodless wound.
I drown among roof tops and clouds.