I.

7 January 2024

because the wood is old
it is dry and the flame catches quicker.
god, I don't know how many more times I can tell you this.
Because the wood is old
the floorboards cry out
and nails catch the calloused heels
of your bare feet.

of course you are living inside, balanced on soft clay, with your hands plunged in to the wet red earth.

because the wallpaper is old
it flakes, and underneath is paint,
and underneath is wood.
you've filled your mouth with clay.
the taste is familiar.

where have I gone in my own home?
my roots have snapped
dry under the subfloor.
there's you repainting
around my hollow trunk.
and I

have slipped down to the basement,
where cracks sprawl the concrete,
to hold a match to the
furnace's snuffed-out pilot light