Chris Banks
Thief
I jimmied open the basement window,
rusty hinges swinging slowly inward,
shimmied myself onto the high shelf,
letting my feet drop toward the floor,
before padding stealthily up the stairs
like a five year old apprentice thief.
My neighbours were eating breakfast
at a small round table in their kitchen
without ever speaking to one another
or seeing me standing on the stairwell.
I kept my vigil for maybe five minutes,
then left the same way I had come in
without ever thinking of their privacy—
until yesterday when I was cleaning out
the basement, then saw a shaft of light
pour itself through an unlatched window.
It triggered in me a sudden wave of guilt;
or was it simply déjà vu? What passed
passed I always thought, but how else
to explain that sliver of light, and then
a who’s who of my memories, breaking
and entering into the story of my life?
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