04/07/2024
Every once in awhile I write poems and wanted to share one with you all βΊοΈ
The uninhabitable house
I once had a house I was told was unseemly.
Too noisy, too warm, too unruly, too big
It would be shameful to live inside, I was told.
So I made a home in the backyard shed, a practical space, very reasonable, and unassuming.
Spending my days trimming the hedge,
Planting colorful flowers, painting windowpanes, all to cover the house as to not bother any passersby.
Until one day I saw over the fence my neighbor leaving her house, the look on her face furtive, not fearful, glowing with what seemed a lovely secret.
I rushed back to my safe shed, stunned by her audacity, and swore that wouldn't be me, yet deep in my heart I held the light of the look on her face like a fragile bird.
It seemed as though my house began to call me, and that bird in my heart tried to sing a reply. Worried, I ignored the call as best I could. Yet it grew louder, softly persistent, and the song was so lovely.
A candle in my hand, I ventured to the door, creaking it open, slowly, ready to bolt, I held the light up.
What I discovered was noisy, the music washing over me, it was warm, holding me like a hug, it was unruly, enthralling with its mystery, and it was very big, my heart barely grasping the implication, the potential.
That day I didn't dare cross the threshold but with time I got bolder, exploring each room, curiosity my guide.
A stranger yet it was mine, but a sadness stood between us, tentative we both were to trust one another.
The taste of rebellion was sweet on my lips. This place felt like home, my shed seeming so cold and lonely in comparison.
But how did one live in a home such as this?