When the dog whines in the backyard, I close the window and wait for the squirrel that has caught her eye to climb out of sight. She will come to the kitchen door soon ready to sulk, never quite understanding that she is the predator and he the prey. Continue reading
Author Archives: sevenhousesdown
Day 34 of 35
I’ve tried, but I’m exhausted and my brain appears to not be functioning. Continue reading
Day 33 of 35
This morning he keeps me hushed in drifted cotton– the windows sealed,the birds at bay– and he asks about the dream, the furrow in my brow. I tell him of the apocalypse I can never stop and of the python that strangles the mallard duck on a pond in a park a mile from where … Continue reading
Day 32 of 35
Not today Continue reading
Day 31 of 35
1. The summer has gone native here. Our autumn generally subtle, our orchards extinct, few worry, except at night when the houses won’t let go of the heat. 2. It is a winter scene— a bridge made new by snowfall. I am bound by the black and white of it and envy the photographer his … Continue reading
Day 30 of 35
Tattoo Before he breaks the skin, he asks if this is my first. Much of my body exposed, I wonder how he doesn’t know the answer; how he could suspect that I have secreted another? We choose a sentimental space between spine and shoulder-blade, above my heart and hidden from the casual observer. When he … Continue reading
Day 29 of 35
Catarina squawked as the door opened. Amber felt the warmth of the small room reach out as she walked up the steps. Josie moved aside to let her in, and immediately she was wrapped in the nearly-uncomfortable heat generated by the fire. “She doesn’t like the cold,” Josie said. “Being tropical and all.” Amber knew … Continue reading
Musings / poetry / Uncategorized / Writing
Day 28 of 35
He twisted paper into rose, a parlor trick I had seen before Continue reading
Day 27 of 35
The moon swells in the last days of our heat wave. I have spent the summer filling this room with fans,and each night I have turned them on and slept beneath their electric whir, protected from morning birdsong and its infinite memory of your arm half-circled around my waist. What will I do when the … Continue reading
Day 26 of 35
The fire truck passed, and I watched as the cars resumed their forward momentum in waves, as if the siren had paused time and then hit play again. Continue reading
Untempered Glass 