The House of Flora

  I used to have a family.
  Now, they are just
  Paper People.

  Sometimes,
  I take paper dresses,
  And paper pants-suits,

  And I put them in
  Unique clothing,

  So that for a moment--
  I can pretend as though they are puppets.

 When I play Puppets
 --With my family--

 They no longer have me on strings.

 They no longer
 Have me on
 Strings,

 They no longer
 Have me on

                S
                  t
                   r
                    i
                     n
                       g
                         s.

                       Because
 I have

        T
         h
          e
           m 

                       On strings.

 And everyone comes home.
 And everyone eats dinner.
 And everyone watches movies together.

 And our picture windows glow with the dimly lit flicker of
 Night lamps,
 And bedtime stories.

 No one is
 Loud or
 Quiet when they are mad.


 No one lies--

       Or omits.

 When my family was
 Flesh
 And Breath
 And
         Bones

 They would sometimes gather around the table
 For hot turkey,
 Fresh vegetables,
 And
Mac & Cheese.

 It took me 22 years of sitting
 Around that table

 To
 Realize

I was searching for my
   Identity

With a
    Room full
               of Risks

 Staring back at me.

The bruised yoke of my
Fragile self,
   Tip-toed around the lines
Of a house made of
     Egg shells.

 --Everyone had damaged feet.
    And their heels bled.--

 Now there are crimson footprints all around my
 Castle.

 Not even I can
 Pretend them
 Out.

 They keep telling me
 Christ will come
 And mix blood with blood
 And wash all the
 Crimson out.

 But I've been sitting on the curb
 For years
 Waiting

 And dinner's getting cold.

 And this waiting for a miracle
 Is getting old.

 So I pull out my paper dolls,
 And 

Then I-
[The Poet]
Write the dream;

I stitch 
My 
Family
Back together

At their
Fraying
Paper
Seams.