glass doorknobs

my eyes were attic doors
to the moth room. everyone
was deciding to be fragile & 
then there was me with my teeth
in a blender. shaved ice for days.
my tongue started to speak
a language different than my own.
alarm says, "smile like you're not dead."
the watermelon were deciding
to grow from trees, breaking branches
& necks. haven't you ever
swelled more than you could handle?
i need a cane but i refuse to use it.
instead i resolve to float down river
to wherever i need to go.
what do i keep in the attic, you ask?
it's nothing you should worry about.
the stamps are angry like bees.
the family portraits have vacated
& in their place are giant teddy bears 
stuffed with saw dust. the county fair
had no animals this year. we just all gathered
to stare at the pens & the hay.
once, when my mother was furious
she took all the doorknobs. 
smashed them on the floor
or ate them or planted them
in the backyard where they sprouted 
a tree of doors. i would stare at them
as i passed on my way to school,
too afraid to open any one of them.
the house lay open, gasping.
a fish flopping on the shore.
i cut my own gills. curled up
in the bathtub. called myself 
a piece of lure. reached to my face
& turned my eyes. ascended a staircase
into the insect parts of myself.