The View from the Cul de Sac

after SP

I think of someone gloved and covered,
coming to take me away. Some kind of wildness
thrums beneath my skin. Veins that pulse like
a bee dance for honey. The neighbours

are twitching their curtains, windows used
as a magnifying glass. I used to dream about
crisp white bedsheets, time and thoughtlessness,

enough to do nothing but stare at my wrists
until the night devoured the room. I open the windows
when it rains, watch the magpie sink its beak

into puddles that swirl with larvae. Summer
cracks the pavement like eggshells. I close my eyes
at night, and all I hear is thousands of horses
running through our commuter town.

Catherine Wilson Garry