Looking For A Favorite Place


Looking for a Favorite Place




I move when the light between the hours of four and six becomes too strong,

And I am restless with waiting and counting.

I move when the house is explored and there are no more secrets

And I know where the carpenter ants have done their damage and someone has

found where I hide when I can’t work.

I move when the mailbox is too full.

I move when the newspapers repeat themselves with pictures of

Global weaponry and small photos of children with their animals,

And there are reports of coyote’s roaming in local fields.


I like:

Drawer paper peeling off the bottoms of drawers

Smelling of must, perfume, mothballs and exploding bullets.

People who live just across the street and appear out of nowhere from time to time.

I like finding things that don’t belong to me.

Photographs and thimbles,

Old tires and pet cages,

Annuals that forget they are annuals and regrow in the flowerbed

Without provocation.

Once I found a ring

And I can’t give it away.


I move because tomorrow is a word involving pursing of lips

And I survive on the pleasure of possibilities.

The future has no memory of pain.

The past belongs to everyone else

And I am a voyeur in it.

I float from house to house in an altered state,

Sometimes leaving boxes unopened until the next move

When I will unwrap a piece of a love affair or a dog’s toy

And the chambers of my heart twist into themselves.

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