Potted Plants

the floor is rough with cheap carpet

there’s a nightlight by the bed

I’m looking out the window

and seeing all the lights

which are creeping through the doorway

and are brightening in the night

where’s the name of that movie we saw?

on an old-fashioned black dvd player

what’s the name of the girl that wore

the floor length gown?

or was she the one who followed the man on the train?

always a man

he played with plastic action figures in his delicate hands

his piano hands

and there was music and raindrops dripping down

the window of the train and then

he followed her

I can feel that bump in my spine

right about the middle; it’ll leave a bruise

I’m looking at the monsters crawling

out of the flower pots

out on the balcony

with the has-beens and have-nots

she gave me a kiss on my cheek

I fell asleep on the foot of her bed

curled up searching for warmth like a fetus

or a mosquito to suck out the blood

there’s a picture of some great-aunt on the wall

all old and brown and fake fruit around it

I want to bite it

I want to splinter the old creaky wardrobes

I want to tip the china cabinets over

I want to let go each flower pot

over the balcony rail

I want to watch them fall

and bounce off the ground like hail

it smells dusty in here

it suffocates

like the blanket of someone who died

the air sticks to me like a gummy mold

I see under the bed to old clear bins of clothes

the drywall and the nightstand

it all smells so old

and the clock

the clock on the wall that says “time’s almost up”

and then I’m awake

and it’s 4:00AM 

and I hear a crash

and one of the flowerpots is gone