dream house

From the outside it seemed big enough;
three stories of windows pasted
on the grey clapboard gripping its sides,
overlooking a ravine filled with dense growth
of brambles - or was it a moat of teeth.
Inside an eight by twelve room
worn linoleum of faded flowers
rough table along one wall
a straw bed in the corner
a wood stove and an icebox -
that’s where I lived in a poverty
self-inflicted, reflected,
inducted.

Doors stuck for the longest time.
Never considered an exit or an entrance
until the storm troopers came
and beat upon one that lead outside.
I burst through my fear, unclosed,
to a plain room strewn with rags
and found another; opening with
a timid push into a place
of baubles and games stacked along walls -
a pass through to a room of artifacts.

Someone else’s treasures coveted.
Antiques and jewelry never touched,
never loved -
interred by motes and silica.
I stayed for a short time
caressing fine old woods
and brocade-covered chairs,
swaying ropes of glinted stones,
wondering who had left them -
wondering why I’d never
come this way before.

The next swung in frank inducement
to a frothy cavern of silk and netting
weaving its joy upon luxuriant carpet.
Light my footsteps - light my eyes.
The wings of my heart fluttered
as two doors flung themselves against
glistening walls and flew across
a prismatic bridge over flowing time
into a resplendent hall
with a blazing throne.


© 2003 MJS