and finally a small earthling missing an earring
opens the door an inch. C’est moi.
The new haircut makes me a new tenant
in myself—patriot in lipstick for an hour.
What’d’ya mean you don’t know me?
I’ve bought bibles off you before!
Sure, you damned my eyes, but I got
new eyes, then put my faith in the tiny ark—
that teapot you sold me which never could
hold anything hot. Didn’t you swear on
what you sold? I guess Who’s there
was just the start of a joke.
I’ve answered enough. I guess
your fist was all for the knocking.
Nance Van Winckel has two new books out in 2013: Pacific Walkers, her sixth collection of poems (U. of Washington Press), and Boneland, her fourth book of linked stories (U. of Oklahoma Press). The recipient of two NEA Poetry Fellowships, she has new work from a (text-based photo-collage) novel forthcoming in Kenyon Review Online and Hotel Amerika. She teaches in the MFA in Writing Program at Vermont College of Fine Arts.