Francine Witte is the author of four poetry chapbooks, two flash fiction chapbooks, and the full-length poetry collections Café Crazy (Kelsay Books) and the forthcoming The Theory of Flesh (Kelsay Books) Her play, Love is a Bad Neighborhood, was produced in NYC this past December. She lives in NYC.
When you come back, maybe then I can leave
A house is a. It is not a verb. If you never heard the word out loud, you’d say it wrong. (See love.) A house is taller than you. It has walls that are thicker than you. At night, it gets darker than you. (See doubt.)
A house is a. It is not a noun. It is a container inside other containers, and it holds containers, too. It holds people with bodies and hearts. (See eggshell.) It’s inside a neighborhood, a town, a world. (See inside and inside and inside.)
A house is a. I thought you were one. I thought love was one. I was going to buy a shelf. I was going to buy a dinner plate. (See trying to plant a dolphin.)