I left my window open. Moonlight knocked over
the dresser, flung socks and secrets like a thief
scared away mid-theft. A fly rummaged my body. I survived
bombs meant for I know not who, mistook my beating heart
for unexploded ordnance. Whose war am I fighting?

My throat burns with lightning. A rainstorm sloshes
in my stomach. I smell strongly of ozone, wet grass, bird
feathers. Someone made off with my tears, sold them
to a cloud for pennies on the dollar. At breakfast,
I find the cupboards bare, the fridge ransacked.
I make coffee with a bean I scrounge off the floor,
next to a blueberry and breadcrumb I eat greedily.

I have lived so long, unawares of this black market,
slept with my mouth shut to keep out the spiders
I learn don’t actually climb into mouths at night.
I guzzle water from the faucet; remove a thousand
stingers from my face, neck, chest, thighs;
watch a spider eat a bee and a lion eat a bear.

Tonight I’ll dream that a colony of ants has dragged
me out to sea, where I discover my belongings and I
have become so much flotsam and jetsam. Bobbing
in the water, I barter what’s left of me for a pinch of
salt to season my last meal and bribe a pigeon to tell
my wife to close the window—that I’m happy here.

Image credit:Leonardo André

Andy Posner grew up in Los Angeles and earned an MA in Environmental Studies at Brown. While there, he founded Capital Good Fund, a nonprofit that provides financial services to low-income families. When not working, he enjoys reading, writing, watching documentaries, and ranting about the state of the world. He has had his poetry published in several journals, including Burningword Literary Journal (which nominated his poem ‘The Machinery of the State’ for the Pushcart Poetry Prize), Noble/Gas Quarterly, and The Esthetic Apostle.