Wednesday, April 21, 2010

House

House

Listen, houses are more powerful than you know.
The house is the outside, the shingles, the yellow siding,

the big white door. The gold knob and the bell.
The ways to enter, or to ask permission to be let in.

The house is its outline, the rain funneled through gutters
and released on the ground, spare parts of trees lying

in temporary stillness on the stairs. The house possesses
a being within the walls. Inside there is light,

waiting to be animated. Clicks, humming, thumps
emanating from the architecture like scent from a blossom.

Houses can haunt you, can murmur in your ear
while you sleep. Can rise from their yards

and creep amongst traffic to where you live now.
Where the two meet, the old house, the new one,

the air stirs, a clamoring of forces. A house presses
its presence against you, says this to you, Remember.

7 comments

  1. i hope my house thinks well of me
    as much as i think well of it.

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  2. I love this poem, Hannah. It's another great example of the wonderful way you expose truths- beautifully, lyrically- in ways no one else could think of. I love lines like these:

    "Inside there is light,

    waiting to be animated. Clicks, humming, thumps
    emanating from the architecture like scent from a blossom."

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  3. If you haven't read "On Moving" by Louise DeSalvo yet-- you must read it! I think it would inspire you even further with this moving topic.

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  4. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  5. thanks for using my work hannah. i'm very excited that you found it so inspiring. you should check back soon, i just completed a series dealing with similar imagery.

    thanks again,
    Ian

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  6. This one moved me to tears. Yellow siding indeed.

    ReplyDelete

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