Elegy for a Home

Out of its doors and windows, corners, pores
The House constricts itself expelling me out

Left only in the houseplants
slowly dying,
the stubborn parts
of the gently fading upholstery,
the dog chewed cushions not yet replaced
by blue sequined ones,
bookmarked, lined books
not yet lent out and forgotten

The tart green scent of crushed lemon leaves
is the green in the veins of the living room floor.
Marble, like the pebbled bed of a forgotten secret forest stream
dusty from our arrivals every evening.

Only the moon still picks out the silver leaves
As they flutter whimsically to the forgotten spaces
The lipsticked tea cup, the ashtray,
the half read book
that still lies upon its waiting page

The white damask sheet with delicate paisleys
and the far left frayed corner.
The gradually fading spot
fading with careless casual washing
That one is me.

27.10.11