WRITER | CATHERINE MORSE
If my heart were a house it would be built up strong with bricks…
But a little rickety in some places.
Floorboards that squeak underfoot
A foundation that slopes toward the south end so every
Chair with wheels rolls away of its own accord
What can I say?
I’m not an architect
The front of my heart is painted pink, bright
Bubblegum, fun--It’s not a facade, I promise
I just want everyone else to see only the best parts of me and not
The kitchen sink filled with dishes
The dark cobwebbed corners
The newspapers piled on the stoop when I can’t get up and face the sun
So when I throw open the windows to
Air out the spirits, they’re only to the back of the house
Not painted at all, no facade. I take out the trash, I pull the weeds, I feed the birds.
But I don’t sit on the back steps with a cup of coffee,
Watching the sun rise
There’s a wreath on the front door and coffee brewing and
A welcome mat that says something funny like “bring tacos” or
The door isn’t locked, I promise,
But it does stick a little so just pull really hard
You gotta try really hard
My house, like myself, is hard to convince: do you like us?
When you compliment the flowers in the front yard, do you really mean that?
When you say “no” or nothing or “okay,”
What do you mean by that? Did we say something wrong?
Do you like us?
Sorry, I got off track
If my heart was a house I’d put all the wallpaper up myself, big, floral,
Hurt-your-eyes bright, and get that built in floor heating,
You know, so we could always stay warm even on the coldest days
I’d make us drinks,
Let you pick the music
And we could play scrabble
Drop by anytime. All you have to do is knock
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