I don’t know if it started out this way or not, but this house is crooked.
The chest of drawers and revolving book shelf slant toward the east.
The tall bookcase in the middle room leans to the north
and the floors in the front room are warped at unpredictable angles.
It’s like the house has arthritis.
I’ve always loved it’s quirkiness
Coming undone seems to be part of the nature of living. Structures, some of them miraculous, come together and then loosen up more and more with time.
Now, at 60, when I see my reflection I don’t recognize the woman who looks back.
I catch her looking at me,
One fractled aspect to another.