This is one of those times when you wake up during the night filled with confusing thoughts and emotions and the next thing you know, you’re writing a poem that may make very little sense, but then, and only then, you fall back to sleep.

The funny thing is, I’ve mostly lived in brand new houses. But that one time, and it only takes one time, there was that old house…

Old Houses

Old houses are scary
Didn’t they know that about me
Or didn’t they care
Thinking they could take me anywhere
Their whims led them
Their limbs fed them
House to house
Door to door
For richer or poorer
Deception was their slave and their ruler

Cobwebs in the buggy in the old garage
Hidden was the spouse or was it a mirage
Memories jumping out as spooky as the night
Why were they surprised when I stood up to fight
The mist hangs over locking the doors
Prayers and fasting knock me to the floor
Foggy are the mirrors in the season of Lent
Coming out wiser is a time well spent
Light from the sun as bedrooms change borders
Sons over daughters questioning the order

Looking back are fears and questions
Breaking the mirror was not a suggestion
Lost in the bedroom without any power
Anger rising to the surface hour by hour
Caught in a web without an election
Packing the car, tires squealing like an ejection
Owning my power was the most courageous thing I did
Praying tonight for the world’s protection of kids
I desire to desire to desire to love and forgive and forget
But, clearly, I am not quite there yet