Apartment to Let

 Another poem for Magpie Tales.  Better late than never. 

 

Moving

South facing, bricks glowing, rather like me its

aspect was open but with emptiness inside;

a blank canvas whose origins are unknown.

Shabby but not chic, high in the air but

in no way haughty, it overlooked the park.

The apartment was small, (the agent’s word was

bijou, mine was womblike  which suited my intention).

I moved in with cat, books and an optimistic frame.

I aired the place for days and days, gathered salt

and water, swept and scrubbed, hung up bunting, filled

each room with violets, pinks and roses, flooding

them with light. I lit candles and sweet incense,

scented sandalwood and sage

I scattered salt in corners,beat drums in rhythm, 
laughed, clapped, danced and played

rock music way up to the roof. I threw out

blinds and curtains for I really love to see

the skies and count the stars and look out nightly

at the moon.  The escape route, though an eyesore,

was a comfort just in case my candles ever

tipped and quickly spread their flames and

secretly I  felt a little stranded up so high.

After rent is paid, the choice is often  heat

or eat but when the days are bright, I open

windows wide, survey the view, admire the park

and watch the sunlit shadows as they dance

upon those warming, ancient redbrick walls.

Cait O’Connor