Apartment

Rae Armantrout

The woman on the mantel,
who doesn't much resemble me,
is holding a chainsaw
away from her body,
with a shocked smile,
while an undiscovered tumor
squats on her kidney.


The present
is a sentimental favorite,
with its heady mix
of grandiosity
and abjection,
truncated,
framed.


It's as if I'm subletting
a friend's apartment.
Even in the dream,
I'm trying to imagine
which friend.

And I'm trying to get
all my robes together,
robes I really own and
robes I don't