AN EXTRATERRESTRIAL SLEEPS IN MY CLOSET
I shine a flashlight on her
the flashlight of my phone
I shake her firmly by her tooth
do you want to go home
I can hear the stars rattling
a fire fits and starts in my heart
she sighs and sighs and in the morning there are pools of drool on my cardigans
I spend the next century dreaming wheelbarrows
This poem was published in Issue VII of Grimoire. Cover photograph by Darla Mottram.