NUMBER 17

the house i was born in
i still dream about
adding
secret
rooms

  All Mine

behind bead curtains

  for
  some
  reason
i cant remember the bathroom 
but
the glass door in the hall
at
the
foot
of
the
stairs
that
i DO remember
  no one else 
  remembers at all

i stop by there sometimes
and
look in the back gate
listening
for
an
echo
of
the brown sofa
or
the cabinet under the tv
where 
my 
pens and fuzzy felt
lived

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