House in the Heartwood

by Andrena Zawinski

The house on Summerdale Street burnt down,

its fans of wallpaper flowers went up in smoke,

the creak in the first step––gone,

the veined glass pane,

the hum of the furnace kicking in,

the drip drip of the kitchen spigot,

the rattle of ghosts conjured

in its shadows,

the root cellar fragrant with herbs,

just like that––all gone,

up in smoke.

Inside my heart, another house constructs itself––

off the back porch, bleached white sheets balloon

on lines where wind

and everywhere it has been

remembers those sticky summers,

the soapy snap of wet

I wound myself in

to get cool and feel

nubs of breasts beginning

to harden there.

At Gualala, a coast and lifetime away––

inside a redwood den, a wildfire has hollowed out

and scarred a heartwood with dark.

Wrapped in its own cool shroud of moss

wet with fog passing through, nothing

rustles or moves but my feet upon the path

away from it. As a young girl,

I would have happily lost myself

inside its cave walls, taken for my own

this thing, this heart, a home

too large for anyone to hold.

* * * * *

"House in the Heartwood" was first published in Ariel XXI, 2003 (Triton College Salute to the Arts Award).

More about Andrena Zawinski at https://andrenazawinski.wordpress.com.