Published on: 9/3/2015
In Communion

Every city has houses so full of
past lives, the bricks can hardly
hold them. Joys deep in the
woodwork, too easily forgotten,
in beams behind walls, forever
hidden and bearing, sorrows
beneath centuries of plaster
and paint. Words stuck in
time-warped panes of glass,
wishing in vain to be unsaid.
Generations of laundered
underthings, sacred vows in
scented drawers, kept,
but never spoken.