Coming Home
I
once
made a house
of a man to squat in.
I curled into the cold swoop
of his rib cage. I was rocked to sleep
by the creaky inhale and exhale of the
floorboards. Digging with dirty claws
to find momentary comfort in debris
and dust. I tucked my tail between the
pads of my front paws and slept there…
Without rest,
I dreamt of
nesting in
the nook of
someone,
entirely home.
Attending to the
unconscious rhythm;
a sigh… a snore… a heartbeat.
Anywhere there is love, there
are so many pillows, beds, and
blankets filled perfectly with
down feathers. You offer
so many soft
places to
rest.
4 thoughts on "Coming Home"
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I thought your lines were great and I loved the pictograph form
Amazing
I love the way you shaped your poem on the page.
Love:
I curled into the cold swoop
of his rib cage. I was rocked to sleep
by the creaky inhale and exhale of the
floorboards
Love a great concrete poem, and you!
I am fascinated by the idea of dreaming without rest, and the cold swoop of the rib cage is fantastic.