Glass Houses

Glass Houses by Mobius Faith

It remains with dreams
of luscious greens
in a far off place,
not in this space or time;
open the door,
listen to the squeak
of metal sticking
a slight adjustment
and its old bones
slide – cr cr cr cr creak.

Warm moist air
billows through your body,
the scent of a laundry
slides up nostrils
bringing a pigeon coo
of a memory,
gone before it’s caught…

Slide the door
shut behind you,
keep the warmth
contained within
against the bleak
no man’s land outside.

Spanish moss
eases your creased forehead,
orchids dance like
in a corner
fragrant pods
ooze the scent of vanilla,
snap one off,
sneak it in your pocket;
remember when
you stood upon chair
to reach the kitchen table
scrapping precious
fragrant black paste
with a blunted knife
and then the churning of
the cream, breaking eggs
to collect the suns inside,
and the black paste
made speckles
in golden ice-cream
one endless summer’s day.

Two tears form
in the corners of each eye
and race to drip
off your chin,
you blow your nose and shrug,
you turn to leave,
the door’s creaks
recite an ode
to the vanilla pod
nestled safe
inside a roomy pocket.

A desolate glare outside,
you quint as the cold air
shakes your scalp;
again you blow your nose,
a defiant trumpet call,
you walk past broken bottles,
grey clay sticking to your shoes,
the ridges of the pod
feel warm as your finger tips
recollect tracing grandma’s wrinkles.


Poetics– photography by Terry S. Amstutz

32 thoughts on “Glass Houses

  1. smiles…lots of warmth in this…from the smell of laundry to vanilla to the though of cooking as a kid…makes for a nice contrast to the cold and grit you bring the night…memories will keep you warm…smiles.

  2. Love how you capture warm moments from this desolate scene…loved the pigeon coo of a memory and the chance to walk through this memory, as said above beautifully executed…a truly wonderful poem.

  3. Such a wonderful reminiscence that stirred all my senses, including sadness followed by the reassuring warmth of grandma’s wrinkles. Step into the shell of our past & feel the pulse of joy as we allow those memories to drip into our soul … beautiful, Marsha 🙂

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  5. Loved loved reading this, Marsha. Your writing here is brilliant. It is a poem and it is a story. Your sense of setting is superb! And vanilla is indeed something warm for the soul. May you always have a vanilla pod in your pocket for a rainy day. 🙂


    As a rockstar says
    It’s a long way to the top
    Especially when top’s at the bottom
    In the upside down law country

    As an old man says
    Lots of ways are going on top of the hill
    But not so many climbers
    On these desert trails

    Clouds and ravens walk
    Through images and sounds
    Perfumes and smells as a scarf
    Like some sovereign blazing star

  7. This is absolutely fascinating work!!! The inside – outside relationship & the transition is just superb!!! and the last two nostalgic lines: “feel warm as your finger tips/ recollect tracing grandma’s wrinkles.” Brilliant indeed!!!

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