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Heart Like a House

By Petrawritesstuff

What happens when the lights turn off?

And the house grows silent?

When the music you left playing is drowned out by emptiness?

Who is left to see the paintings on the wall?

And the frays on the mattress?

And the books that we left unturned?

Who exists in this chasm of a place?

Who can find shelter in something this cold?

Who can live in this vacancy of a home?

Unless someone turns the lights on

“my lover’s body is a metronome. i listen as sleep portions her breath into something even, perfect. once again, i am held on the outside of time.”

— Claire Schwartz, from Bound (via buttonpoetry)

From “To Float in the Space Between” by Terrance Hayes in the July/August issue of Poetry.

[image: Ink drawings on white lined paper (as if from a notebook) in the segmented style of comic panels, with text from the Etheridge Knight poem “For Langston Hughes.” First image has a series of figures walking in a line across a landscape of varied shapes and textures with the title of the poem handwritten in the sky above them, followed by the line, “Another weaver of black dreams has gone.” Second image is a close portrait of a man or two men across several panels in a background of silhouettes and shapes with some continuing text from the poem, “we sat in June Bug’s pad with the shades drawn/ and the air thick with holy smoke.”]

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