Today's poem is by Anne Marie Rooney
There is a house to me. When Saturday leaves a gradient
of onion on the floor I open a mouth which is also a corner.
Who can say this also isn't mine? The sparrow of belong-to
has smaller than nowhere to fit. If I could feed the trellis in daisies
I would not. I would not feed the trellis or that which has never sweat
against a screen door or door. (Which can't be mine
either.) (Each plank fretted up as if mistakenly gardened.)
I would never water the ankles of anything. I think we should begin
at the head, the think prickle: If I could be paid in water earned back
I would crater the kitchen and stop the smokestack.
Copyright © 2011 Anne Marie Rooney All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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