The Labyrinth Of The Body Poem by Yasmin Hemmat

I sit in the house of my body.
My tea has gone cold.
Beyond the windows of my eyes,
rain is falling.

The ivy of my veins
has crept through
the damp cracks in the walls.

I wander through the labyrinth of corridors
and fade away
behind the frames of memory.

I gaze at a mouthless woman,
rain streaming
from her eyes.

Black clouds
cast their shadows across her face,
and her hair spreads
like the roots of a withered tree.

I do not know
how many years
she has hung
upon the cracked wall.

I do not know her.

I reach the end of the corridor.
There is a door
opening into my heart.

And the only guest in my house
is a spider,
weaving its final thread
around my heart.