I’ll set this house on fire, burn it to the ground,
color my bones in the ashiest dust.
I called upon the wind to howl at the flood,
gather up the relics and let them all wash down
deep, (to the deepest of the ocean’s floor,
far beyond the reach of your stark eyes’ spurn).
I whispered to the birds to hold silence aloft,
bestow wings on my voice and let it all soar up
high, (to the highest of the sky’s blues,
far beyond the verbs of your scornful tongue).
I’ve set this house on fire, burnt it to the ground,
weighed the remnants of ash and dust.
I summoned Van Gogh’s ghost to erase starry night,
to choke the yellow moon and shear the cypress' stock
bare, (nude as white canvas, and
far beyond the red or your anger’s torch).
I sent for Poe’s baneful words to curl around my lips,
to soak the vowels in my mouth and leave consonants dry
panting, (barren as a desert dune and
far beyond the green of your envy’s beast).
I let this house burn down, till there was nothing’s left
only bare earth and mud, yet no evidence of dust.
Helena Malheur © 2010