On cringing joints
The New House creaked
Heaving in the night to feet unsteady.
He weaved through lampposts;
Tottered towards the lightless path.
The family slept
While marbles rolled in rocking drawers.
While the keys jangled
About to fall from their new perch;
The hook near the front door.
Inside and unknowing (ignoring)
The family lurched towards
The Wild- clipped carefully with fences.
And their imagined coyotes crumbled and howled
Beneath the house’s blundering feet.
Mountains flowed just out of reach.
So one by one each child slid
On ropes of hair
Or racecar tracks
Or a powdered galaxy footpath.
They left through their windows
Hair mussed and feet half-socked.
Heels hit the dirt with
Sleep still in their eyes,
Hopes pinned to curtains left behind.
The New House waited
Until one by one each child’s fingertips
Got caught on the breeze
Like sticky paper, and
They were tugged gently
To softer places,
Artwork by Icinori “salle des machines”