The Bedroom

by Doug Draime

There is no point of
reflection here.

It wavers
at the angle the bed
used to be. Where
it was once was, at that
angle, I watched
the stars and moon.

Now the moon is where
the apple tree
was. The radio has
completely disappeared.

A Mexican vase is there
instead. The walls have
been painted a color
I don’t know: between
blue and
avocado. The shadows

don’t dance anymore, they
float, moaning bitterly
over the place
where you once slept
beside me. The twinkling
chandelier is gone, and I
can’t find the ceiling

###

Doug Draime’s most recent books include Los Angeles Terminal: Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and Rock ‘n Roll Jizz (Propaganda Press). Forthcoming full-length collection from Interior Press, More Than The Alley in 2012. Awarded PEN grants in 1987, 1991 and 1992. Nominated for several Pushcart Prizes in last few years. He lives with his wife and family in the foothills of Oregon.