We sit in these bodies
living such lives
Spilling out
all over the page
Stepping into each other
for moments
days
weekends
Absorbing
all depths
and tumultuous
highs
Getting to know
why we do
what we do
Why we react
in our own
idiosyncratic
stereotypical
ways

How would she feel
I thought
if a policeman
came calling
while she cooked
scrambled eggs
for her daughter’s
breakfast?
This policeman
who’s saying
her son lies in casualty
not out of the woods
monitored closely

How would she feel
as the eggs burned
to charred remnants?
Her husband’s hand
soft on her shoulder

Again, I live
another’s life
Inhabiting
her anguish
for just a moment
Though at least I
held the promise
of escape
and control
of the keyboard

[written for a chapter of my new novel, which affected me very much as I wrote it this morning]