In the Company of Silverfish by Amy Ralston Seife

In the Company of Silverfish

Our house is populated by horned
torpedoes of shimmering moonlight,

slippery commas that slither
into corners when I enter a room.

They nibble the silk of my routine,
gnaw holes in my concentration.

I’ve given up trying to disperse them.
When they appear, I settle into the ruined

sofa of myself, welcome them in.
Memories thrive in the darkness,

emerge in silence. I have become
lace, the holes of your absence

making beautiful the fabric
of what was once so ordinary.

*

Amy Ralston Seife is a poet and short story writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming
in Lumina, Inkwell, The Ekphrastic Review, Literary Mama, Quartet, MER Vox Folio, Indelible, Right Hand Pointing, The Five-Two, Plants & Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. She has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and Pushcart Prizes, and is the editor-in-chief of The Westchester Review.