#3

[styrofork]

This is the first place
the only place with weight anymore
and these are the books on the stairs and the floor,
each upturned, its cover bent
and this is the place the pieces of glass went
when the window was broken to let in the shore

and these are the chairs that the family sat in
while the record player lies broken spinning,
and the shattered pieces of knights in white satin
and this is the place I learned about sinning

The first place that caught my eye
on that white bright day in early july
the only place with weight anymore
and this is the house
and the sea
and the shore
and the street
very neat
and the charming decor

I learned in this place
I learned to adore
the feeling of losing myself in a face
and to place your hands on her back or the floor
and these are the stairs the lead upstairs
and this is one unopened door

I don’t remember that day anymore
but I’ve seen the pictures a thousand times,
and each one served to drill in my mind,
the lesson they wanted me not to ignore.

and this is the door

It doesn’t open for me anymore,
all the doors are sliding bars,
opened by those who own a key,
and populated by men with scars,
I never see the sun anymore
the sun no longer shines for me

and the moon shines through a paper tree
outside the house beside the sea
and each new wave makes a tiny sound
that rattles the house a bit in the ground

and the room beyond the unopened door
is filled with bloody misery

and I will never forget the first place
the only place with weight anymore