The old Victorian around the Arch

Hill Cemetery was my dream

Home – before they renovated


It – fixed the rotten

Clapboards in the tower

And painted it pink.


One day – I imagined –

I’d live there alone

from other humans but


With a gang of

Cats. The neighborhood

Children would be fearful


Of me in my worn, pink

Bathrobe and fuzzy slippers,

Wild hair, but some


Would slip in for homemade

Cookies and to sit with the cats

And my stories saved up inside.


This is Poem #11 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give critique.