an untitled place

nowhere.
nightly fog &
a forever chill.
pink sky sunsets.
indigent clouds
orbit like smoke-curls.
a closet of cozy sweaters.
coffee by the mugful
held tight to my breast
tremorless.
incense deepburn.
oil-dressed candles.
ancestors from that
next room come
sit a while.
nowhere.
liminal suspended
between solar system
and sessipinae.
quiet inchoate.
a one-tricky cranny
of books and trip-hop,
poured libation.
nothing but living
on the to-do list.
sticky notes be
poem fodder,
fire kindling,
never for remembering.
here, the past
comes to call.
brings danish.
no consequences
of blood.
no wearing
anything,
not even
your body
on days when
commando
ain’t naked
enough –

writing prompt fun

my facebook friends enjoyed this, and i got more responses than i anticipated. (i didn’t anticipate any.)

here is the prompt: “write about your body as a house. describe the exterior and interior. what furnishings? what residents?”

my own response:

this front porch 
a dilapidated institution
of soft love and hard story
complete with creaky swing
and tiny table 
with books and quartz
to repel or call as needed, 
ghosts
inside the floorboards
groan greeting
windows wide open
something’s in the oven
smelling like cinnamon 
ready to be shared
so sit. all furniture
is clean and well-worn here
ready to hold you.
share a secret or two
plenty of wooden boxes
and mason jars
on hand 
for keeping truth fresh