“The Question Remains” by Abigail Dembo

Is something more frightening coming?
The silence in the kitchen says, yes.
Heaven is the hole in your chest.
The teapot has red eyes. Beware
of anesthetic; you
throw the bad dogs raw meat.
The fortune-tellers have spoken,
levitated the table, moved
the green eyes in the painting 
of the dead dowager on the wall.
Of course, there is no escape.
Not in the mirror, though the mirror
is a friendly thing. Always, in its way,
tried to warn you. There is no
skirt large enough to hide behind.
Under the grass, something
is singing, wake up.

Abigail Dembo lives in Berkeley, California. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in EPOCH, Laurel Review, RHINO, The Midwest Quarterly, The Main Street Rag, and other places.