Title of entry: "The Room Mate" Author: Tanya Smith
Category: Poetry



 

Arriving here, feeling as if something immense is about to unfold

An indescribable pull in the spirit.

As if the whole cosmos is holding its breath

suspended between what is and what’s coming

Standing at the brink of something veiled,

obscured by a mist you cannot penetrate,

I hope for so much 

And so little.

 

But arriving at the room

Waiting and waiting for the door to open

What's behind it?

Who's that moving and muttering?

 

She opens the door,

Doesn't speak to me, doesn't look me in the eye

Flops back on her bed

Prayers from an unknown congregation scream out of her phone.

'Amen! Amen! Amen!' she shrieks.

 

That was at four.

It went on for ten more hours.

She knew her Bible, that's for sure. Even the Devil knows his Bible.

All the time, staring at me.

 

There was nowhere to put my things, just a table. 

I opened my bag, to arrange a few possessions 

'Don't touch my stuff!' she yells. 

 

A cup, a bowl, a spoon, two lunch boxes.

Everything else locked in four big suitcases,

Jealously guarded. Even her toothbrush.

 

I went to use the toilet.

'Don't take my paper!'

Now it's her toilet paper, too.

 

If she goes out and comes back

All four bags are unpacked, 

Everything comes out, spread all over the bed

Then she produces salt and oil

She anoints the bed, her clothes, the suitcases.

'Someone's been stealing my stuff!'

 

All this time, quoting the Scriptures at me,

Why did you come from London to destroy me? 

No evil shall befall me

No devil shall prevail!'

 

She never stops

At night, there's a man on YouTube,

Screaming as loud as her

'Say it loud! I am a child of God!'

'I AM A CHILD OF GOD!' she responds

'No evil shall befall me!'

NO EVIL SHALL BEFALL ME!' 

right into my face, boring through from one ear to the other

No escape.

Even when she turns over, I hear her.

 

I wonder whether God's looking down at his creation 

laughing or crying?

 

She gets up and goes into the bathroom.

More salt and oil, mixed to a liquid.

She sprays the black tiles

White smears dribble down them

What does she think that will do?

Does she think I let the Devil in 

when I took a shower?

When I scrubbed off all the stains 

and left it sparkling?

 

Finally, so fed up, prepared for anything, I asked her,

'Do you mean to tell me I'm the Devil?'

 

Then she told me everything

About the cameras watching us all the time

Twenty-four hours a day

They're poisoning her clothes to make her itch

They're suffocating her with the pillows

 

How can I respond?

She doesn't listen

She can't hear sense

There's no way in

There's no way out.

 

 



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