Old Houses
I didn’t really think about it
until it hit me
oh.
Oh.
There are a lot of women
with porcelain skin
and big, spacious laughs
between us
Distance is a little
vacuum
you can’t empty out
when you’ve had your fill
I want to say
It makes ya grow fonder
But:
You’ve told me things
in confidence
Sure, We all
feel confident
with the lights on
This space though,
is letting the wind
whip through:
A big old house
settling into itself
at night
You start hearing creaks
wondering what may be
poking around
Convinced you hear
some big, spacious laugh
coming for you
One foot
already on the stairs.
I didn’t really think about it
until it hit me
oh.
Oh.
There are a lot of women
with porcelain skin
and big, spacious laughs
between us
Distance is a little
vacuum
you can’t empty out
when you’ve had your fill
I want to say
It makes ya grow fonder
But:
You’ve told me things
in confidence
Sure, We all
feel confident
with the lights on
This space though,
is letting the wind
whip through:
A big old house
settling into itself
at night
You start hearing creaks
wondering what may be
poking around
Convinced you hear
some big, spacious laugh
coming for you
One foot
already on the stairs.
Mackenzie Moore is a television and podcast writer based on Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in Man Repeller and Lunch Ticket, and she has forthcoming poems in the spring 2020 issues of Variant Literature and the Northridge Review. She believes bagels heal most wounds.