A Place That Wasn’t Mine



I pick you out on a map a year ago today

Received the blueprints for the house and

traced every sliver of white with my fingers

To then be demolished

A hole within me cut clearly with a tower

Chiselled by a morning choir


I am reduced to nothing

stripped bare and splayed on glorified


and perhaps a little girl still reaches out for

a dark blue ribbon

and perhaps a spinster cranes her neck to

look above again


but perhaps a hand will brush your walls

and perhaps the wall will exert equal in


to breathe with me

respire with my very being

even if for just a second

for the same soft navy to loop around my


and wave, wave you down the river


I still bow to you, but perhaps you should

bow to me

and ask

‘why do you kneel for what is really only

bricks and mortar?’


Photograph: Stacy via Creative Commons and Flickr

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