My Glass House
A glass house
Cracked, fractured,
Gleaming silver with threads of glitter
And the promise that it will shatter.
Where I spend most of my time.
My house, my home
Of long hallways that refuse to catch light
Ironically dark,
a longing emptiness
always changing
And only the guidance of a blind keeper in wornโthrough shoes
Three hundred seventyโtwo rooms
for antiโheroes
for angry, sarcastic teens.
For bitter divorcees, for juggling lawyers,
for leatherโclad candy stripers,
and glitterโdusted lovers
who perform.
A library for dramatic license.
An attic for the volatile watchman
who remains perched on weakened rafters,
keeping an imprecise tally of the ticking.
And below,
buried beneath the houseโs weight
his brother
in the basement entertains unwelcome guests
who slip in through unguarded points of entry
the windows of closed doors.
A kitchen for when the mad hatter comes
to breakfast
and we throw stones together.
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