What better way to anticipate our fourth burntdistrict issue than a poem about fire, remains, and all things new and old? We’re throwing it back to our very first issue for this week’s poem, “NEW OLD HOUSE” by Natasha Kessler.
NEW OLD HOUSE
by Natasha Kessler
We are undoing these wounds,
undoing these forgivings stored
under the stairs.
Wait for the holdout, the smoke-laden
faces pushing against glass.
We see nothing for miles.
We don’t remember the house burning
or study the flight patterns of birds.
I like you, creature, set at the level of little windows.
The house burning will be our new children,
little soft haired voice fountains.
We will be the mamma and we will be the papa.
We will remember this place swollen,
the wet look of brass.
Some shape our hands made.