On The Edge

I was singing along to the huff of the heater
the vapor rushing from the bell
an alarm dragged itself to my feet
a chill swept the dust away so quick
I blinked too slow
and did not take notice
of the balloons rushing out the open window

I wonder what it feels like to be this house
to be open
to close
to have locks
and to lose everything
every time it’s emptied

I am just flesh
refilled consistently by a red sea
I have heat that does not hum
but rushes in waves

I will never be a house that empties on a whim
or filled for the sake of another’s desire
so I carefully sit on my own shores
at the edge of my skin
with only the pleasures of being

Published by

Carol Florencio

A daydreamer trying to weave something out of words.

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