My “Roommate” (A condensed sestina)

There’s a Christian Imperialist caged in the cavity of my chest.

She’s rattling my ribs as we speak,

Smacking her tin cup against the bony bars,

Trying to catch the loose change falling from my heart.

I swear, someday I’ll manage to suffocate her. Just not yet.

Someday sooner I’ll have to learn how to breathe around her.

My cavity, meant to be filled with air, is filled with her,

So my heart and lungs have nothing to pump

(besides the rattling coinage she sends through my blood,

and against my best wishes, my body circulates it.)

Please, I’m begging you, don’t hold it against me.

I swear, I’m going to drown her someday,

With a cup of tea rattling against it’s saucer,

I’ll fill the cavity with a boiling homemade concoction,

Something that will drizzle over my heart and through my ribs.

My only fear is that our hearts might be conjoined,

Her pulse pressed against mine, beating in synch.

I wish I could claim ownership of the cavity in my chest,

and evict her someday sooner,

But each of her rattling breaths is my rattling breath,

And her rattling tail tells me I can’t touch her yet.

She’s a snake wrapped firmly around my heart.

I swear, I’m getting rid of her someday, someday soon,

Please, please reader, don’t hold it against me,

It’s not my cavity. It’s hers.