Poem of the Month
Staircase closed to guests, joists creaking, delaminated wall paper peeling back from drywall. Wood-framed doorways, frieze of goddesses, three fates, Adam and Eve leaving Paradise again. Lot and his wife done in needlepoint, behind them the city in flames. A harpsichord out of tune from disuse, real silver brought out each morning, the box opened for guests who dine on quiche and pineapple. A garden where Cupid pours water from a bucket, recycled yet pleasant enough to linger beside bougainvillea and Bird of Paradise. Infinite detail-work in marble, bling of lamp shade Tiffany-esque. Enough mirrors for Narcissus to drown and drown again.