I Often Dream of a House

By Peter Grandbois

I often dream of a house with doors I cannot open
from the inside
A house where I am forced to stare at the barking odor of being alive
A house where I can be in a room inside a room inside a room
because it’s safe
A house where I invent things so that nothing real can happen
A house in a field
A house where the thing I love most is not guilt
A house where you are gone and not gone and gone and not
gone
A house where pain does not float like cast off shoes
A house where the sweet past sleeps in jars
A house where neither of us has a speaking part
where we settle for hours without ghosts
where memory folds tight
where our bodies crawl through frayed sky
the two of us holding each other
like walls

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Peter Grandbois

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