Homewrecking is different from housebroken



Homewrecking is different from house-
broken, in fact, some might say
they're opposites. When I think of myself
I think you have picked the lock,
sat naked comfortably on a leathery
surface. I don't break the windows anymore;
I got smart. I'm a good girl. I know
you can see through them. Window
means glass, means now I can see, or
crystal clear, as one might say. Take me
terribly tinted. Stained glass. Do your
other women know about me, about the
windows I am & see through? Peeping Tom
leering into your public space o god all I want
is to trust that where I lie is truth. I see
a guardrail and know I must accelerate,
ignite. Burn this whole place down.
Whenever we are driving somewhere, I think
I wish I was home, but it's broken. Wrecked.
I put fresh water in the vases every day and
what good did that do? It's not something
a set of tools from your grandfather could fix.
It's clear to me now, that the home is an extension
of yourself. If it's tidy, there's no problem.
The windows are open; you can see inside.
O can't you see that nothing is what it seems.
We have curtains & draw them billowing
extravagance to say we’re still here
but cloaked. Hidden. Unable to interact
with the unwelcome & unbearably bright sunlight.


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Charlotte Seley is a poet and writer originally from the Hudson Valley region of New York. She received her MFA from Emerson College where she served as Editor-in-Chief and Poetry Editor of Redivider. Her first collection of poems, The World is My Rival, is forthcoming on Spuyten Duyvil Press.