Tag Archives: house

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Daily Prompt: Inside You Were Sinking

Today’s Prompt:

Create a short story, piece of memoir, or epic poem that is 26 sentences long, in which the first sentence begins with “A” and each sentence thereafter begins with the next letter of the alphabet.

through-a-foggy-window

Ashes were all that I found, swimming through the corners of our house.

But you were there – bones never make music beneath our feet.

Crawling down the hallways I counted the nails in the floorboards.

Did you hear me, all breath and skin from above?

Exhaling formed a crop-circle of dust just above your head.

From below you called to me, like a siren under water.

Growing up the walls, it shook our foundation.

Heart pounding, I felt for you, eyes shut.

Inside you were sinking.

Jewels of light squeezed in.

Kings and Queens watched us, loose on the mantel.

Loaded with dreams I curled into myself.

Myself, what I’d known, was leaving.

Notches I’d left for you, I remember with shaking hands.

Opening my eyes I watched your words arch over me.

Pressing the walls I felt every syllable.

Quaint as our home, our hearts were quiet with love.

Reaching for you now has never lessened the emptiness.

Silence stays but in this moment I am wrapped in the nothingness of you.

Tracing our past pulls you to the surface, if only for a moment.

Unity, movement upon movement.

Variety is all we have now, a carousel of aging memories.

White is all I can stand, no color to rip me from the view of us.

X-rays of rainstorm lit up our hallway as night fell, and you faded.

Yelling out won’t bring you back to me.

Zig-zags of breeze bring morning in.

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