Poem 154

Thinking of you all and hoping it is a moment in a long memory of your home.

American Dream Houses

Losing a house is more about losing doors and hinges
the borders between outside and inside
and the everything beyond the fine line of what is mine
losing a home is about kitchens and toilets
and porceline enclaves which have only been touched by us
what long list of sacred cabinets to hold our yearly intake
of nusances, now to be woken suddenly and purged

Because without a home there is no time-kept
we have no memory of what is now and what was then
cataloged in sameness and changes – high contrast
on minutia that is everyday boredom. We are street lamps
on and off and on and off and on and off and everyone
watches us to see if someday the light will go out.

Even dream homes have rooms one never enters.
Which are left un-cooled in June and the furnature sweats
on its lion’sfeet, and we live down in the kitchen,
running the faucett longer than we needed and laughing
at ourselves for being so poor at domestic arts and so
remiss about dishes.

Yard sales full of dishes; 10 cents a piece. Each one
comfortable with deflated caserols and pittiful
on display, outside of their cabinets, watching passerbys
in perfect wonder of their houses, which would also
have cabinets full of dishes, equally succeptable
to foreclose.

–ECW

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