How many small hands
have opened up
the front of this house,
with its latticed tin shutters,
its smudged glass,
breaking apart its neat
Tudor stripes
with a creak, peering
into rooms, rearranging
the lives within?
Today we’ve made
a feast of Fimo
for the people who
have no doors.
With hardboard walls
between them, how
can they escape
their tiny housebound
lives? To reach each other,
do they have to shout?
Or have they stopped
speaking
after all this time?
When no one is looking,
do they bang their heads
against
the wallpapered
night?
Lucy Whitehead writes haiku and poetry. Her haiku have appeared in various international journals and anthologies and her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Amethyst Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Barren Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Burning House Press, Collective Unrest, Electric Moon Magazine, Ghost City Review, Mookychick Magazine, Neon Mariposa Magazine, Pussy Magic, Re-side, and Twist in Time Magazine. You can find her on Twitter @blueirispoetry.
Kristin Garth & Pink Plastic House a tiny journal 