House
By Archived Story
Posted in Literary | No Comments
My world was carpet and tiles.
I could never see the floorboards
beneath: ascetics, prostrate under feet.
I asked my Mother questions and I
could tell it was Sunday by the way the sun
soared through the windows and landed
on the backs of the unreasonable
couches. Terry cloth capes,
plastic swords, and I was David.
The ceiling, the floor above it, the roof,
were held up by angles more than walls.
The Smiling Catholic, towering, always
coming home, never leaving.I saw the next one made.
I saw the cement, the timber,
the glass that went into it.
The walls, …



