Call around and see us

I am alone
the house is empty
               it breathes
& creaks like people
        the greeks next door
but one are having a barbecue
I hear them through the
cracks singing loudly
        they sound happy
        I stood for a while
        feeling the warm skin
        of the frangipani flowers
listening to them
falling dead around me
the darkgrass smelling the music/
woodsmoke sometimes the greeks and I say
        hullo but mostly we don't
        maybe we are shy maybe
I sit here alone
                & think
of the men friends who criticise
my writing for being too personal
whatever that means
                     ah I know
and ever since I can remember I
strove to be depersonalised - did you?
dark interesting colours avoided
sunlight rarely spoke
never 'lost' my 'irish' temper
sometimes smiled
               mostly hovered
sometimes thought of suicide
mostly hovered
watching others act
                  & refraining
myself invisible
sometimes looked obliquely
through windows & doors and people
called me efficient
                  fallen flowers singe
the darkness the petals are warm
like skin I still have my role
        my invisibility
but changed older different
        I am uneasy
in these close fitting garments
        and to my male friends
I say
   I will talk about you me us
   I will drag us out of cupboards
expose us because we are personal
dark burning flowers of madness alive
alone together and we are
going to criticise you your world
        say our clothes are too small
and that the house
is empty and has always been empty
        and we say to you
look at yourselves (if you have the guts)
        call around and see us
        but we are going out