Nostalgia for a House
Why
this
stupid
nostalgia
for the house where with
such miraculous dissonance
the years managed simultaneously to be dull
and chaotically abusive? Up and down the E-minor scale, I play again
the notes of my fear, his sulking or shouting, her fall
when shoved, the lonely long distance
from towns: this my myth
no others
muse on,
this
cry.
