House of Allusions

 

Woken in the night

by drip drip drip

snare drum beats

like regrets and broken promises

and ever since, silence

we’ll fix the hole

before the rains return

but the memories remain

 

Damp patch by the front door

creeping slowly

a lengthening shadow

beyond the chalk outlines

which never became high and dry

during the hot summer

next door has them too

but theirs is brown and patchy

a different metaphor

 

Black spots like minor sins

appear in corners and conscience

it takes something industrial to remove them

I’m not sure I’m up to it

 

The windows are misted up

inside the double glazing

where no one can wipe

obscuring the view

like fading eyesight

like fading recall

 

The sink cupboard has shifted

gaping from the wall

I think my floor is sinking

pulling everything apart

 

Outside this house

the sun shines still

after the rain

and the garden appears

full of life

drawn up from underground

where buried are plans and desires

becoming real and vibrant and possible

a surprise of colour and texture

and miniature worlds like poetry

 

 

Sometimes I don’t know where the house ends and the metaphors begin

I can’t tell anymore

We need a lot of work done