DOLLHOUSE
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| Photo: Geert Hermsen |
The people before us
were French doors—
she wore her hair alfresco;
his bon mots were rococo.
There was so much room
in the sky's loosely-
translated word for all-time
that the way our phonemes
fit together after all,
like the last puzzle
pieces stung like an insult.
Did the sky blush to bloom,
a parasol in a fruit-
drenched cocktail
at the way we took luster
and let her linger
a holy wafer
dissolving into after—
our tongues hummed.
How we longed for italics, ellipses,
anything to expunge
the blandness of texture
the pure falsity of
sand
begetting glass
begetting windows
to the dollhouse of transparent
love which is
such a perfect container
it imprisons us.
—Dan Smart + Reka Jellema, February 8, 2020
