Hindsight by Laurie Klein
Maybe God haunted our stairwell at night
with a shadowy stance
hard to perceive. Not once
did I see my parents linger
within that shotgun hall. It was,
for me, a wishing womb, glassed in
by seven French doors,
where the pendant light swung
and stuttered with water whenever
someone showered too long—
the bulb, a faerie ship in a bottled squall,
fritzing on—off. How early we learn
to step back, rather than forth,
convinced What we are,
already, cannot be undone.
In the catch of memory’s breath,
reclamation goes on:
a nail drops out of the paneling.
~ as published in Rust & Moth
Hindsight by Laurie Klein | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
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