My grandmother’s curly hair above the foam, the tub walls trailing her rose scented soap and the giant black poodle in the corner staring

soft leather sunrise above the ocean where foghorns cadence unfriendly angels bearing torches to set the hills alight, here in this place, where fire is in the soil as much as blood

no one ever said it’s not haunted

this house fills my memory but I just keep redecorating, a lamp here; a crooked bookcase bearing remnant sawdust; posters of unknown organics labelled in a foreign script; plants, bears of light and air