Construction Literary Magazine

Spring 2018

Of the Home; Myth of a Separation

Of the Home; Myth of a Separation
Photograph via Flickr by THEMACGIRL*
Of the Home


Under your house there is another house,
some thirty feet down. Go buy groceries

for your deep house—buy yogurt, apples, any cheese
you like. Buy the darkest chocolate for the sunken

hole deep house. When you leave the store: don’t
panic. You’ll remember

where your forgotten house is, even if the top’s gone
off the idea of “house,” “your house,” “my house,”

where it is. Friend, what I know is there’s a floor
below the floor.

Myth of a Separation


As if I gutted my house with a hammer,
tore down to insulation and studs,
then married a blacksnake in the back yard,
and ate its scales in the basement—

The kids blamed me, of course,
so I drew them pictures of fish with my tongue:
some fish had hands with hearts,
and I hissed that the hearts were kisses.
Then fall came into the house, the pressure

and light, then the walnuts, then the storm
that all the artists and animals felt
coming with holes and heat in their sight—
when forbearance seemed too dear a virtue.