Russell Edson Poems

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They let me in. I went right up to the nursery
and climbed into the crib, and assumed the famous
fetal position.

They didn't know what to make of it. They stood
by the crib looking down at me.

They were young. This was their house. Instead
of an infant, a grown man is in the nursery.

Of course they hadn't planned on anything like
this. It never occurred to them that anything
like this could happen.

I had made my move. All I could do was to keep
the position, pretending to sleep . . .

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