Towelling Hoods # 1
in the wet house where all the dreams
came flying out in the wet house
her other spaces fell
about in laughing at
the hope of ever keeping sane or getting
far away in the wet house drenched by sweat
of horror drips that fall in pins of
accuracy wished up
by a bombmaker she rides on nightmares just to make
the coffee in the wet house all the walls are white
in the wet house only she can see where fingers touched
the walls the floors
the small folds of the human brain
meninges metatarsals singing out the shrill whistle of the
boiling kettle tells her his tea is ready
in the wet house
wow! quite an experience here! very powerful! Maybe i wanted the poem to end with "his tea is ready" which opens a lot of possibilities for our imagination to go on while repeating "in the wet house" is somehow a limitation .. .. but I'm fine with it too!
ReplyDeleteUber wow Kerri! Just loved the wet house - and the sense of the dangerous and ominous intertwined with the domestic. Love it!
ReplyDelete