2013 -- 6.1 (Fall) Poetry

no place like home

By Bonanza Jellybean

That house.

The house I hid away in; yes,

that house,

head under the blankets

to shut out

the daylight,

the landlord’s call,

the knocking

from anyone at all;

the face in the window,

that I don’t recognize,

but that looks a lot like me.

From here,

I stand to look at you, house,

with a stomach full of rocks.


the contents of my life

still lie in the bottom of a box

forgotten in that corner by

the window that’s still shattered,

the red curtains closed,

bleeding over the things that

I thought mattered.


stepping over clothes

forgotten after they were flung

masterpieces remain unfinished, and

pictures left unhung.

Cupboards are still empty.

Ghosts of “Remember When?” will still be

lying on the bathroom floor

like those people that

“I’ll never be like…”.


the skinny black cat

still hides by the front door,

afraid to come in

and ask for more but

too hungry to run.

I can see all of this

from here, in a new house,

by a new window, looking out

of new curtains,

on a new bed,

with my new cat;

I can see this because

part of me is still there, in that

old house, in that old bed,

with my head under the blankets,

too hungry to run.