by Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
Because the sides of this house are inclined,
stucco and angled to gables, we find
an acute lack of space. We tend to place
beds, records, books & harsh looks at close range,
in cornices that furnish short order.
We push our pans into shallow cupboards;
our bathroom towels hang low, while we walk
tenuously with our heads down. The stark
lack of mirrors and pictures cleans the site
itself: the parlor, free of all but white,
sloping walls that keep quickened steps deterred;
the master bedroom that would echo were
this an upright room, the close ceiling.
The silence. The alabaster feeling.