I was coming back
from late-night grocery-shopping
and I saw you at the edge
of the driveway.
What’d I say?
Nothing. You just waved
Weird. I wonder if I was there
and I just can’t remember.
Maybe. You were sort-of you.
Anyway, the whole lawn smelled
like some kind of ancient perfume.
The door was wrong; I mean it was really thick
and it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
Instead of a knocker
there was a small window.
The front hall was really bright. A pretty woman
in riding boots and a cream-colored dress
was eating martini olives
from a man with a long, curled
She strains a little, and looks at the wall.
I think… a maid went under the stairs,
into the closet, and never came out.
Then there was a bright flash
in the living room.
And there was a phonograph
trying to get past just this one phrase.
What was it?
I don’t remember. Someone, a woman
singing. But when I knocked
on the door, my hand went through
the glass. And the woman
in the cream-colored dress