My House

my house is young

the wallpaper is paisley

it warms every room

it’s only an old soul,

my house


there is a snaking scar

in the foundation

of the eggshell ceiling

it looms just over the

bouquet of roses


only a shifting

a timely settling


there is an aching draft

that invades my house

sometimes I wedge

blankets at the bottom

of every door


there is a certain window

in my house

where I watch the sun

rise and fall

I dream through the glass


when night comes

I weave through my house

jiggling locks and chains

I straighten photographs

until morning


I hang words and shapes

over the puncture wounds

of my house

it breathes regardless

it’s reliable, after all













Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

2 responses to “My House

  1. Absolutely stunning imagery. A very descriptive and moving write Nicole.
    Be well and keep inspiring.

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