poem

 House of Love

Remember that house we were going to live in?

The one in the woods with the great front porch

And the backyard framed by a low stone wall?

I sent you a letter to that exact address

Hoping whoever lived there now

Might hold on to it until we move in. 

I won’t lie, I’ve sent dozens of letters there

And not one has been returned.

It’s probably an old widow—

Unrepentant romantic—

Who reads them all 

And puts them in a recipe box

For safekeeping.

On the opposite kitchen wall

Hangs a crochet tapestry that says:

            "This is a House of Love"

8/19/24