One

I push a pushpin and the drywall collapses into a perfect tunnel. I unroll a blank canvas and ink myself onto space.

Two

The shelving unit bends to just before snapping point.

Three

Cup abandoned, tissue box empty, laundry crumpled.

Four

Stacks on stacks on stacks; bodies on bodies.

Five

I roll a blanket to tuck into the cold gap between our mattresses.

Six

The window leans forward to watch the midnight streetcar short turn onto Bay.
I lean into the wall of perfectly frayed tunnels. Life collecting in all the corners I can’t bring myself to clean out.

***

As much as I love the aesthetic of a well-balanced living room with everything in it’s place, none of that reflects what it might look like for me to really feel at home. Even as a kid, when my mother asked me to clean up, I’d always reason that a house with some things out of place looked more like a house we actually use. A house with things crooked and piled, still clean but with a lazy hand.

 

Oh how I love these wall marks and wrinkly sheets; these aging months rattling in closets like loose doorknobs.

DSC05686.JPGDSC05715.JPGDSC05682.JPGDSC05751

 

Posted by:jasmine

Jasmine is an editor, poet, and community arts organizer. She comes to poetry by way of Chinese music. This blog is a mapping of ways.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s