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Guest Room

Esther Morgan

Whatever you thought you wanted here –
clean sheets, nail scissors, book –

has slipped your mind completely
like the name of a cousin at a wedding

three times removed.
The trick is not trying to remember,

to hover in the doorway at a loss,
a visitor among the things of the world.

There will be no words
for what comes back to you then –

call it a kind of stillness, rarely entered,
which could be its own reward

like the scent in a drawer of folded scarves,
or a bed not slept in since winter.



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