She built a home with her hands
each beam uncalculated
but standing erect to perfection
nails nor screws thoughtfully placed
because she couldn’t live in
a home with a rhyme.
Wood splintered on stairs from
the footfalls of men who
took them, smiling back at
the eyes in the walls.
They didn’t match the paint in
the sunroom or the arrangement of
wildflowers at the back window.
Guests ate their
fill and descended sagging steps
none parallel to that above
or below.
Most slammed the door
hard at her back and she never
watched them leave.
She slept alone, always,
remembering each visitor’s face
by the way it felt in her hands,
thinking
if she had feelings she’d split them
like hairs.
Photo Credit: Janah Montana Flickr via Compfight cc
I love reading the work of this amazing young talent. Considering she is my daughter, it can be difficult to open my mind and soul to the words on the screen/paper, rather than analyze them as her own definitive emotion or views based on real life experience.
But when I am able to absorb the words as if they had no home, I realize my daughter has a talent for making them dance <3