Renting
Again
by Kate Lebo
No city in
the world will save your life,
But you keep
hoping. On your old block
A house
kneels on a corner and watches
Its thin
lawn, some fences and next door's
Bamboo
blinds. Last year you'd stood
On its porch
and felt solid, waiting only
For a
ride. You were happy.
Not
exactly. You were almost home.
Inside
someone watched football.
Someone
cracked an egg. Someone
Sorted yard
and glue and sequins
Into
meticulously labeled drawers.
Do you know
your body's address?
You could
find that house again, right now.
One day
you'll be daydreaming on a bus
And your
house will burst out of its doors before you
Lit from
within and dirty, like the little boy
You haven't yet birthed.
From a river & sound review via KUOW
