Testimony Poem by Garrett Johnson

Testimony

no, I am on the fair flight
of stairs in this big house
where the odor of mica and a leaf inched
away intersect.

no, I do not have arms crossed, am operating
something not seen and looks to me like a sewing machine,
light slanting upward through a chimney that I look up,
it has words, parts of them, and the born again glances

of a world that re-emerges, tidies itself up.
If you look into me you'll see water, rows of it,
the boat, the oar, a heartbeat with eyes not blinded but merely
syruping into the edges it does not identify.