The lord lived beneath us beneath our kitchen
his bedroom our stove his bed our fridge his desk

His one great ear pressed to the joists they trembled
his typewriter made poems of our sins he slid them

under our front door before school
and we on hands and knees

Over time his ear grew more insistent it warped the floor
visitors remarked on it we thought ourselves half a butterfly

we thought ourselves his muses
but he grew exhausted he said was tired of eating the rind of truth

If I cannot tell you everything does that make what’s left myth?
      Imagine what you will, o great ear uplifted

Imagine us and here we are young again in that kitchen
lord hear my prayer lord the onion basket’s copper wire

the curved shelf of cans we never opened lord paper bag stack
where roaches lived lord the greasy telephone cord lord

the day I tried to wash it lord you are always turning me
into someone else you make light of me you fill my shoes

with your scent lord what of this kitchen the white bowls
ridged like seashells the picture of Paris on the wall lord

we tried to leave nothing behind lord you have no idea

—

Megan Snyder-Camp is the author of three collections of poetry, most recently The Gunnywolf (Bear Star, 2016).