I have been here before, in this sandpaper place,
I have felt my feet airsuck the creaky floorboards.
I have stood here, fingers smelling the ridges of the walls,
and moved the little refrigerator magnets with my eyes.

That time, before, I’d swallowed a bowling ball
Carried it like a parasite baby, swelling my blood.
Now a comforter swallows me, swaddles me;
It is cream and polyester, but itchy, not like down.

Now I stand here again, in this sandpaper place,
where I have listened to the hum of the walls.
I remember them whispering, and the lights with their rumors,
and those tongues in the freezer that pretended to care.
They are awake again, the room voices,
They have followed me here.