I Let a Man

A new poem by Kim Moore.


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I let a man into my room because I couldn’t bear
the thought of him with someone else.
Even though he wasn’t, never had been,
never would be mine. I showed a man
into my room as if I was selling him the space.
I opened the door and let a shadow
follow me inside. I didn’t turn on the light,
I turned on every light. I allowed a man
into my room and he was kind.
I let a man push past me through the door
and told myself I didn’t really mind.
I let a man follow me to my room
and didn’t close the door in time.
I let a man into my room which turned
into a lift and we were together then apart
then together then apart depending on
whether the doors were open wide.
I let a man into my body and let him sleep
inside my room. I let him in, I let him in,
I said that he could do these things,
but only in my mind. I let a man
into my room and took a vow of silence,
took a vow of there’s no turning back
because a mind is not for changing.
The men inside my room do not like leaving.
They think they know my name
but one of us is lying. I step across
the threshold. I follow them inside.
Once they’re in, they’re in.
I open then I close my eyes.

Kim Moore lives in Cumbria. Her first full-length collection The Art of Falling was published by Seren in 2015 and won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize.

This article appears in the 15 March 2019 issue of the New Statesman, She’s lost control

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