Enikő Vághy
THE BODY IS A HOUSE OF MEMORY
Sometimes I feel you looking
through me, the open window
of my face a frame for whatever
occurs inside. People stare at me,
a heartbeat thuds in my cheeks.
I shiver like a curtain giving away
the child it hides. You have your games,
the thought of you running in and out
of me as if I am just rooms. When you
got here I stood silent, my eyes flickering
into glaring. Every memory comes a hand
jiggling a knob. I remember your fist tight
that first meeting. I loosened, opened each door
for you. You took the darkest corners for yourself,
let all the images happen.