IMPOSTOR WITH HOUSEMAID'S KNEE
Briefly she sees "life is terrible."
Looking out she wants the window to be
lyrical about snow, dreamy for Hitchcock,
cold cash, hot property, anything.
But, it's "wet and cold with instrumentation,"
Fountains tinkle in the distance.
She might say something
like "then, the thaw."
The smell of warm butter,
seven dollars, purple velour.
This darkness is an apiary.
She risks saying it.
Her melancholy a fenestra,
moth's wing or transparent sting.
This was inspired by a combination of
Barbara Guest (her new Forces of Imagination is fantastic) and,
predicatably, Rear Window. I'm always interested in qualities
of attention, and the ways that poems make wonderful, strange sense of
particularly women's minds, musings, experiences of impostorship. (Incidentally,
I knew nothing about