A Word is Not a Home

  

 

A Word is Not a Home

A word is not a home
but we set our tables

between its walls,
cook meals, annoy

friends, abuse ourselves.
Sometimes I misplace

one, and can’t find
my house, much less

the window’s desk
or the chair behind it.

But if I wait, something
always takes form in the fog,

an arm, a ribcage, a feathered
hope struggling to emerge.

Inept, I take comfort
in these apparitions,

accept their offerings,
lose myself in mystery,

find shelter there
in the hollowed curves.

 

 

10 thoughts on “A Word is Not a Home

  1. I love this. You always surprise me. I like how the line breaks accentuate the words in the poem. Starts out a little disjointed separating important clusters of words, but when it comes out of the fog the line breaks smoothly separate phrases and ideas. Wonderful attention to detail.

    Liked by 1 person

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