i know you’ve seen this house before me
your body moved from room to room
hands sliding across cracked walls
index finger tracing counter edges
you wondered what used to live in all those drawers
knick knacks marbles and dried old candy pieces
you wondered what they thought about god
the old inhabitants of this dying wooden structure
i know you’ve seen the smoky imprints of furniture
still haunting old corners in chalky lines on floorboards
that are the absence of shadows and no less light
so you’ve known the layout many times over
yet when i enter the front door you seem surprised still
by all the fire that i bring whirring around my body
as though we’ve never met or shared dna
common prayers or how-to handbooks
you greet me with your absence as i see the last of your silhouette
trail away around the bushes out back
i wonder if we’re finally done talking about god
the yips of the dog out back tell me he’s seen the last of you too
Seth Leeper is a queer poet. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Coastal Shelf, decomp journal, SCAB, otoliths, Gertrude Press, and Noisemaker Magazine, among others. He holds an M.A. in Special Education from Pace University and B.A. in Creative Writing and Fashion Journalism from San Francisco State University. He lives and teaches in Brooklyn, NY. He tweets @sethwleeper