This is what victory feels like by Syreeta Muir

Shadows in the garden, like open cuts,

bleed out from the gate

in blacks and browns and greys,

apologising for the mess.

An ochre slug crawls over

the blanched, stretched tissue of

a shower curtain,

tiles crack vile, toothy grins.

The drains: filth bubbling

vortexes, like ears full of wax

accompanied by shrill tinnitus,

shriek of violin. Muffled.

Unidentified carpet stains,

cat-shit mines on the grass;

the fruit is browning,

fridge is humming with rot.

There is old grease on the splash-back,

under-sides of cupboards,

and your nails,

in sticky, dusty clumps,

all that, plus

the ceiling water-stains:

Untroubling.

Strange.

Walk the garden trailing a finger

over the chain-link fence,

an arm against

some splintered wood.

Standing still,

ankle-deep in thistles

feeling nothing

but bliss...

A vee of geese.

Can you feel them?

They knew,

even before you,

this hour,

this second, right now -

air, body, house - all of it,

is yours.

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Syreeta Muir is sharing her discomfort in Horror Tree: Trembling With Fear, Daily Drunk Mag, The Disappointed Housewife and others. Her photography is featured or upcoming in Barren Magazine and Olney Magazine. Like your Twitter interactions a bit awkward? Find her there as @hungryghostpoet.