Screen Door
I keep running into the screen door at your parents’ house
it’s like I’m blind but actually can see and the screen door is just a really deceptive screen door—each time this happens I think
this is the world
but my nose bounces flat against screen, calcified bug
inside the not-world side, your parents’ kitchen is stale bleach and dark marble, preserved in heavy syrup jar-seal with camouflage appliances to all match the cabinets—grown folk design
tonight, there’s an egg on the counter, just one, sitting perfectly still
it feels the same as the room around it, even in its anemic scrape of a shell
on the world side, eggs don’t acclimate to design; yolk crackles out velvet hot wherever it can, manifests in the form of a rooster or perhaps a sea turtle, waterfowl
I step back to re-focus and slide open the screen
outside in world-side, a hot choir of quick-thinned mosquitoes whines into place
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