Kiki Dimoula

Thieves In Mind

Crying she describes
how burglars wrecked the house
the wretches took her jewellery and
old women values.

Isn’t she happy?

It’s been years since any thief
set foot in my house
even for coffee.
I deliberately leave the pot unlocked.

On returning each time I pray
to find the door’s canines broken

the lights shaking as if just having
against a tall earthquake’s head

to see the burial gifts stolen
from the mirror’s mummy kingdoms

as if someone had shaved in the
and whiskers had sprouted on my
beardless touch
their refutation bound hand and foot
on the floor

and, coming at its leisure from the
kitchen, steam
from warm footprints with lots of
cinnamon on top.

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