Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Thursday, October 2, 2014


by Jillian Briglia

The house is burning again.

I pass down the stairs.
Flames lick the crystal,
drop into my mother’s hair,
Flames glittering as hot rain.
Hair, she pats &

I pass through the kitchen.
Butter slides off sooty sour dough,
coats my sister’s hand in oil,
Butter slick as bones.
Hands, she does
not eat.

I pass by the dining room.
Glass boils in its panes,
slurs the ink on Father’s news,
Glass dripping as wax.
Page, he turns &

Dog, she dreams
of swimming
and air

I leave, shut the door.

Say goodbye—
to the house
where everything takes place
in the hallways.

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