THE BLUSHING BEAST Poem by Tomas Lieske

Could I live without him then?
Did not my body fill itself each time he came
with stubborn pride that makes the horses steam,
with butter-rich delight? Did not my bed fill up
when I saw him; did not my closets burst then;
didn't my sand cascade in patterns across the floor;
didn't my bread cut itself with longing into slices;
didn't my honey trickle down the quivering spoons?
I ran across thin twigs just like a squirrel,
mirrored myself like a metal can in the canal,
folded myself squarely like linen on the shelves,
glowed like the blushing beast in the fireplace. Watchful
I stand like a chair in the room. When his time comes,
I'll fly out screeching with the swallows from below
the eaves. How will I die when he's no longer here?