Decluttered, depersonalized,
undecorated, denuded,
stripped, dismantled,
unhabituted.
Ghosts of stuff
in squares and rings
I’m a material girl:
I miss my things.
Category Archives: Home
Connections: August 10.17
If clothes make the man
then flowers make the fence
pendant cloisonné
embroidery silk and dense
thus is common serf
disdained low-class chain link
knighted to regal fanfare
of trumpets peachy-pink.
Thanks yet again to the S. W. Berg Photo Archives.
Connections: August 8.17
My grandma’s tub had feet
and Olympic-pool-sized feeling
her toilet had a chain
that hung down from the ceiling.
More, the bathroom window
was tall and opened wide
so fresh air and scent of train
could cleanse the room inside.
Now I have this footless
peculiarity
someone mean invented
to taunt and bully me.
It can’t be cleaned without
risking tendinitis
when I fold to fit its contours
it gives me rigor mortis.
It’s called a garden tub
a pity and a shame
someone ought to sue
for slandering garden’s name.
The window can’t be opened
the toilet’s in a box
so I reach way back in memory
where my grandma’s bathroom rocks.
Connections: July 8.17
If you’re getting too complacent
and your life is too benign
just dig a little hole
and plant a For Sale sign.
No words speak of chaos
with greater eloquence
or open greater floodgates
of diverse bamboozlements
than these two simple syllables
which open up our closets
to strangers’ cold inspections
and our own uncertain posits.
Connections: July 5.17
Houses blink
their sleepy eyes
and chimneys stretch
to morning skies
on tip-toe reaching
to find out
what the raspberry froth
is all about.
Connections: July 4.17
The Fourth wears boom and sparkle
like giant bright birthstone
and gardeners join right in
with fireworks of their own.
With my wishes for a valued Independence Day, dear reader.
And with more thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives
and to the gardeners herein who offer this beauty to us.
Connections: June 12.17
Two prim and proper homes
one tired and hollowing trunk
the stage is set, I fear,
for resounding loud ka-thunk.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
