Ariana Nadia Nash: The Disappearing House
I came home tonight to an empty
grass-grown field. No leaves of paper
remained. No moon hung on dangling wire
above my desk. No muse of constellating
thumbtacked photographs. No floorboards
with grains like rivers. This cheerful, open field
could not hold my home; it has gone now
to wilder spaces, a valley between mountains, a cliff
overlooking the sea, an icy tundra where
the wind stings against your eyes. Not even
imagination could restore it or people it again.
I lay down where my house once was and gazed
up into a night sky so immense it tumbled
away from me, and fell endlessly into space.