dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: home

his hand was as cold
as the shining doorknob
throbbing gold and locked
in her memory

keys and cords
kept choking
the copper pipes
in her old home

so barefoot she walked
the stone path
to the doorbell
rusted raspy

corroded happiness
dusted her fingertips
and attic air caked her lips
as she reached

for his hand


My memory of you

Floats in the river in the woods

Behind my house.

It sings louder than the water

Washing it smooth

And warms the leaves’ arthritic hands,

It heals me too.


We all need an outlet

I’ve heard,

Three little holes

Punched twice in the wall

With a yellowed plastic covering

To frame the intersection

Of human progress and desire

Wired behind painted sheetrock

And crooked family photos.

Maybe mystery

Tangled between wires,

A bundle of electric secrets

Just hidden from view,

Is the happiness enigma.


One thin layer from the surface
Surrounded by
Red,
Hot,
A
nd fat.
Two splinters
Lodged into a calloused skin,
Squished above bones
That would grow better without us,
We fend for ourselves.
We were the loose pieces
Chipped away accidentally,
Taken forcefully
But together.

 


Shredded paper in his spaghetti

“Confidential”

Stamped all over the sauce.

Meatballs ground with

Bits of brown

Curly

Phone

Cord,

Dessert topped

With sweet

White-out icing gloss.


Dancing like bees
On the sticky kitchen floor,

Glad to be home
In their comb

So they shake
Dusty feet

Some more.
They hover hardworking

When the sun’s
In the sky,

Then head home
To honey,

To sweet happiness
Fly.


All the paintings in his house

Were of the walls themselves.

Replicating boundaries,

Untraveled seas,

And memories

With each framed

Canvas layer,

His own brush painted

Dust and cracks

Between the shelves.

He held perfection,

Crushed, then glued

It back together,

And hoped that she

Was doing the same.