House that I loved.
House where I (was) loved.
Even with the shouting
& smoke, the cars never
starting. Even with the stacked
hospital bills & overgrown yard
of tangle, still. Happy
home. Happy, happy home.
House where I hid. House
where I never went
hungry. Walls that hold
my oils for always, smudge
& streak of my youngness.
Nothing left untouched.
Every inch devoured
by my hands. House
of things thrown & forgotten
& so safely kept. Locket
house. House
where the light lives & is
a knife.

Anna Meister