Close quarters.
I live in the corners
Of the yellow house
On a half hill.
Night spinning.
No room to fall down dizzy.
Confined to these domestic tasks.
I grow best
Knees pressed into chest,
Or so they said.
Far off places
Framed and fractioned.
Wonder lost in destination.
I’d do best
To dull this restlessness.
Or so they said.
They said the stars wouldn’t be
enough to guide me.
And the one that did would
burn my skin.
This subtle light that grows inside me
Was only safe when it was dim.
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