by Erika McLitus
How strange to feel the shift within,
not like a tremor or a tempest—
though I have them in abundance—
no, more like a shuffling of cards:
the queen is now before the jack, the ace before the king.
So strange,
to think of the ordered and important pieces
of you
rearranging themselves within the confines of your mind,
risking that the order which surfaces
will be a distortion, a perversion,
hastily thrown together by chance or design.
And if the pattern changes,
so does the definition.
I have to wonder,
which facet of my psyche will emerge victorious,
eyes jaded and melancholy and proud,
dangling power from a string tied around her finger.
