Intruder by Florence McCambridge

What if I told you the pretty dresses you wear could be mine

that I used to put the plates and bowls in a different cupboard

and the drawer you fill with measuring spoons and frosting tips

used to be where I’d put the mail I didn’t feel like opening.

What if I told you the window in the basement by the laundry

still sticks a little, but will open with just the right amount of force

and the door that leads to your backyard and lawn furniture

is usually unlocked even when you’re not home.

What if I told you how I move quietly through your hallways

that I creep across your bedroom floor to get a closer look

at the precious things that you’ve lined up on your dresser

and that I knocked one over once, just to leave my mark.

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Florence McCambridge lives, writes, breathes, and contemplates in Toronto. She spends most of her time reading, baking, and chasing her dog, Finnegan, around the house. He likes to steal socks, that cheeky terrier. Florence has had work published in The Globe and Mail, Dead Housekeeping, and Twisted Endings. Twitter: @FlorenceMcC