If I am in the house
beams posts planks siding slate
guard us against the night-terrors
Floor shore us up above the void below
cover us roof
enclose us from the void above
door keep out the angry stranger
Hearth cherish the fire
windows be beacons
breathe out my warm air chimney
while I am in the house
In this room
my eyes be twelve-paned windows
clock pump my blood
cover my nakedness, rug
curtains be eyelids
sofa, I rest on your strong thighs
Where is the soul’s seat?
Doctors have cut up frogs and not found love.
Is this my reason?
I in myself
Constance Urdang, “Her House” from The Picnic in the Cemetery. Copyright © 1975 by Constance Urdang. Used with the permission of George Braziller, Inc.
Source: The Picnic in the Cemetery (1975)