In My House, A Conspiracy

In my house, a conspiracy brewing

in an already burnt and tinged pan

the children do the cooking

their backs turn, shooting glances that stop

at my door…lit by dampened light just whispered past curtains

the path of my chaos littered long before my profile manifests

from the darkened corner. I’m already entombed

waiting for masculine hands to take

my words, strangle them, watch them bleed free of air

wrinkle them ’til they can’t straighten out again

already stunned blinkless by the beauty of ultra-violet iris sprays

bringing colour to the wood-grain overcasting my vision

’til it bursts with the faded cyan of melting glaciers

I hurry, tighten my face, catch the warming waters

with this buoyant body — eyes reflecting its sinking end.