Showing: 244 Bordelais Lane

The house is well
-maintained, spatially,
but each room
occupies its own year:
you peek into a bedroom
and it's 1985, sheets
bucking and unfashionable
pants strewn floorward.
You shut the door quickly
and enter the bathroom,
where the new ice age
limns your reflection
in the frost of the mirror.
The basement has not
been built yet—likewise
the kitchen, where starlight
glints off the dark eyes
of a moss-horned buck,
the original owner
of this unique property.

Thanks for reading! This year I'm writing poems about moving into my first house and dealing with a lot of drama and evolution in this and other parts of my life. We'll see where it goes.