The First House Tour | poem

Written Dec 23rd and performed at London Inkwell Feb 9th.

I got good at covering the tracks

to my hiding place.

I sweep the snow on return journeys

back from the house of requirement.

These days I am bringing another

and for the first time offering tours.

We go room by room at my pace.

He is helping me to name them more accurately.

I can hide from essays here.

Or from crackling things.

Or from time passing and from growing older.

I click a pocket watch and hit pause on it all.

But I am done with hiding,

hence the tours I am offering.

My first guest does not judge

the jenky-armed sofa,

nor how little light gets in,

nor the dust it catches.

He just wills me on,

partners with my restoration.

I would like to have the whole tribe over one day

and new loves too.

Maybe some will join the project

like how my Dad could not abide

the squeaky hinges on my uni house.

His love is a doing word.

With all this, I won’t have tracks left to cover,

they’ll be lost in the slush my guests turf up.

Then I’ll have to bring that wolf in too.

We named him shame, by the way.