98poems/stilts

It is, no doubt,
those houses
by the river,
the ones on stilts
that scared me as a child,
which have made me need
terra firma,
while he loves
this room –
dreams of it.
Suspended above ground
with things to look
down upon.

Not so much
the windows,
I conclude,
the way they jut
together,
making a corner
of glass.
or the pinky lavender walls,
a color that makes me nauseous
or the creaky floor,
although that helps,
not really the view
but the feeling
of the room.
Not unlike the rooms
I have dreamed,
with light and glass.

Now I know
what he dreams,
But a house without ground
makes me want
to cry –
and so I do for days
after we look at
this house.

2/1/98