melissaahowells
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the house does not ever sleep
I heart her heartbeats in the measured click of clock hands the refrigerator does not rest and the water awaits the turn of a knob there are remnants of those who've gone before shaved hairs, clipped toenails and puffs of dark fur that hide in the corners skin cells shed creating dust occasionally I hear rustling amid the hush I feel I'm never quite alone in this house which doesn't sleep sometimes I bolt awake like some inner clock giving me a push it know the promises we made to each other it knows the ones we made to ourselves yet often forgot to keep the fan whirs and disperses the molecules our dreams our clouds of breath our fears the fan purrs and reminds of being in the womb the warm haven surrounded by our mother's thoughts in the furthest corners half-shadowed lying in wait lie the days demons and the rearing ghosts of doubt the intrepid night light leads the way and does its best to banish them away like a shaman commanding demons to move out passing car lights flicker and climb to the ceiling hint at movements outside hidden strangers driving past their lights settle on bare shoulder a rising chest but move on past the house is a body the house is alive at night the house is here to protect still we lie in bed vulnerable and fragile not knowing how she is our unsleeping sentry ever vigilant in the daylight she can rest. legal copyright for this poem 8;41pm PST 11/9/2020 time date stamped and also for this writer/poet Melissa A. Howells and also for this legally copyrighted and REGISTERED site title: Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE, WILL COME BACK FOR EDITS LATER. Vote for this poem |
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