by Robbi Nester
I live in one room, then another
call them all home, settling
as dust might into the same small spaces.
These rooms are the body I inhabit
that changes cell by cell, yet is still
the self, or so they say
though the mirror denies it.
Some homes I travel to in dreams
like the one at the edge of a continent
where sand sweeps under the door
or the room I occupied as a child
moon trapped in the window like a moth
and the one where I sit now, heart
fluttering in my chest, looking
out at the pool, the hot blue
of a gas flame, my next destination.
PHOTO: “Little girl at window dreaming” by Jenko Ataman, used by permission.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Robbi Nester lives and writes in Southern California. She is the author of a chapbook, Balance (White Violet, 2012), a collection of poems, A Likely Story (Moon Tide, 2014), and editor of two anthologies, The Liberal Media Made Me Do It (Nine Toes, 2014).and Over the Moon: Birds, Beasts, and Trees—celebrating the photography of Beth Moon, forthcoming on the Poemeleon Poetry Journal website.
Author photo by Charles Hood.