~
Blue House
Bare the infinitive, and there’s nothing left
to do for the little blue
house that housed the dramas
of my mama’s living and dying.
Her haunting there foreclosed
by a bloodless letter—
some lawyer’s good faith effort
to stir up my sleeping bones.
I haven’t been home since
she died.
Not to empty the dreamcatchers.
Not to question the spiders.
Not to listen for a cat scratch
at her bedroom
door. Closed. Foreclosed.
Made official.
There’s nothing left
to do for the little blue house,
but bear the infinitive.
I haven’t been home
since she died.
~
Kelli Simpson is a mother and poet living in Norman, Oklahoma. She has published poems in Lamplit Underground, Rabid Oak, The Avenue, Ghost City Review, and The River.