Post Office

If only I could live
among the specks
of these tiles,
whirling in vinyl
constellations
of chips.

If only this rug were
a good place to rest,
its textured surface
prickling my cheek.

If only this blue neon
accent lighting were
the closest thing
I had to daylight.
I could atrophy,
watch my skin
lose its color.

If only a P.O. box
offered a space
to hold my heart.
Cool, corrugated
metal; I’d keep
the key.

If only I could wear
this webbed ribbon
that marks where
to stand. I would
pull it from its posts,
wrap it around myself
like the belt of Orion.

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.