1st place winner for the Spring written contest Sometimes
Maura Atwood Sometimes I just want to go into someone else’s house pass like a ghost through the windows or sneak in the flesh through the back door. I don’t want it to be a grungy house Don’t want my veins frazzled by the torn papers of retreat, lying around like white flags Don’t want to touch the dirt that has sunken as a tarnished self-image onto the corners of the furniture I should like to go into a house that is a house a house that has been lovingly crafted into what it is for its own sake a house that can tell my Sherlock Holmes hands what kinds of minds smile there how quickly the feet go up the stairs what kinds of hearts react to the light switches and I will wander through the rooms touch the furniture, breathe the books, and lie on the carpet, smelling their lives.