i am not a home.

City Doll Archives, 2002. I was twenty-something, living in New York, writing poems I didn’t know were poems yet.

just a place to visit and kick it
for a while. rented
like a summer house
in winter by the shore.
hear waves pound the sand -
a hollow rushing.
temporary shelter from a storm.
clothes of previous inhabitants hanging
in cedar scented closets. Sweaters,
belts, and gloves left in haste.
some things should fit you just right.

i am not a home.
Copyright © 2002 Winifred Tracey