POEM 01

My first apartment and me fifty years old with too much stuff for this tiny enclosure. My heart aches for the house, my house that I lavished years and money and love

on. I miss its coziness. But sometimes comfort is so fleeting and useless. I’ve come to relish the solitude of this musty enclave. The quiet is welcomed after twenty years of Justin’s gargling and spitting.

Strangely I can’t think of any precious moments with him on this move-in day. My Ex, there’s no pleasure in such a claim, but marriages fizzle and people give out, give

up and move on.

I thought I’d reside in a plush house, my house, at fifty. Possessions are relinquished, dissolved, so resolute. All the baubles and trinkets gathered through vibrant years

of  joy and pain with just a smattering of regret, could not fit into this moldy crumbling building. It smells of years of other people, even with the peeling wallpaper having  been replaced.

The tree outside the cloudy paned window has been crippled, painted black to stop its thriving. So nothing thrives here?

Is that the Phoenix perched on the building next to mine? Is it poised to escape the ashes and mount the pale blue sky with thinning clouds to witness the flight? No its

just a metal sculpture of a crane rusted and dead after years of weather and rain.

The bathroom is remarkably bright and white though.; it, will be my refuge.