When a house loses
its luster // the kids,
if there are any // flee
or leave // widening
the threshold // between visits // the pocks
on the roof deepen // there’s a scent // sometimes
mossy // sometimes the body’s
ripeness // the sink leaks // just a little //
sometimes rust // sometimes blood //
but for now, the walls
hold // breaks aren’t beyond amends //
maybe all along I was meant for caves //
all along a bear was hibernating
in my sleep // at daybreak
I forage for blackberries
in the brambles // the taste // sometimes
an earthy tartness // sometimes sweet repair.
–
Sandra Fees has been published in SWWIM, Nimrod, Crab Creek Review, River Heron Review, Border Crossing, Harbor Review, and elsewhere. The author of the chapbook The Temporary Vase of Hands, she lives in southeastern Pennsylvania.