Girls slamming doors means I am filled with the
loss of myself and the brine of myself and the
bursting ridiculous shape of myself and the endless
embarrassing spill of myself, and what did I break
but boys slamming doors means only their own
reverberant exits in flutters of sawdust, putting
hinges out of alignment and shaking floors.
Girls cry from their rooms Come in, I won’t let
you in, Come in,
but boys step out onto streets wearing new, hard
hands, those rackety limbs and sprung joints.
Someone has taught them to try all the world’s
houses, someone has told them every door is
wide open and theirs for the casual slamming.
By Jacqueline Saphra, from All My Mad Mothers, published by Nine Arches Press
The World’s Houses
I wear an oxygen moustache, hating the cold
creep of air into my lungs, but the nurse says
I must keep breathing. I watch the slow clock
of blood through the IV tube, my insides out,
on display , my 'fluid being', my 'wine of life' -