Knock Knock

Your bedroom
Reflects your
Life, says
The mirror
I never
Look at.

We share
This room,
Meaning even
The fish-patterned
Kitchen curtain
Is split
Right down
The middle.

And sleep
On her
Oma's memory
Foam pillow
And this
Hand-me-down mattress,
Collapsed like
A lung.

Anxiety doesn't
Care who
Owns what,
Whose nightmares
The dream-catcher
Hangs over
Our heads.

Because there's
No excuse
For living
Surrounded by
Objects whose
Stories you
Cannot tell.

Elephants and
Peacocks parade
Over the
Tattered wall-scarf,
Which means
Very little
To me.

Mine are
The floss
Picks and
Date pits,
Tissues, thumbtacks,
Painter's tape.

But just
Above the
Tweezers and
Everyday oil,
The goat's
Skull asks,
You who?