medicine cabinet 

i don't have enough money 
for the good remedy. instead i look in the mirror
& wait for geese to fly out. 
i have had to put my eyes
back into my head with nothing
but a pair of tweezers. to be sick
is to be an oracle whether
you like it or not. i have been told,
"you are very brave" as if i am the neck
of a rosary. as a kid, i was just as much of
a medicine cabinet connoisseur. 
my favorite was at my great aunt's house.
it was a huge & chrome framed with a mirror.
inside there were nothing but little ghosts.
men in a long line. dirt on their hands.
sometimes though i would open it
& find a shredded wedding dress.
once & only once i found a tiny jar
of eyelashes. a secret is a place you go
to be real. a sickness is the opposite.
today is a good day. today is a day
i would not take the cure if
i opened my cabinet & found it 
perched there waiting for me. there are
other kinds of days where i would 
gladly take the life of one of those ghosts.
drink the blood of an angel. put the eyelashes 
on my tongue & wait for them to fix me.
another time i was at a lover's house.
i knew i would not see him again.
i wanted to know something else
about him. something true. i opened
his cabinet to find a little trumpet,
sitting bell to the ground. i imagined 
him playing there, tiny instrument 
to his lips. i shut the door. left feeling guilty
that i knew more than he meant me to.