Who Rearranged the Furniture?

by Paul Hooker

April 2015

Who rearranged the furniture in my room?

Why do I keep running into things

once settled and conveniently secure

so I could pass among them in the dark

unconcerned that I might stub my toe

on familiar things in unfamiliar places?

Why’s the sofa here that should be there

while the recliner’s clear over there too far

from the crane-necked lamp I nightly use

to read of other lives, if not my own?

And did I not store that table in the basement

to hide the scars and scratches of a careless past?

Too soon the dawn will chase away the darkness,

and I will see this room through other eyes.