Poem #1

I know what the ground in each room of my house smells like.

From the musty taupe carpet in my basement
To the bright hardwood of my kitchen, faint of Pine Sol.

I know how it feels against the skin on the very tip of my nose.
On my sweaty palms, fingers clenched.

Whether it echos or absorbs muffled sobs — 
Do you know how to hide where no one hears?

The tiled blue bathroom on the second floor is prime 
For curt cries. Two minutes tops.
Use for stress relief, then wash up and drive to work. Smile.

When you remember, like lightning, find
Soft cotton rugs in your childhood bedroom. 
They smell like November dinners and a time before storms.

But when a rush of reality knocks the air from you;

When your armor becomes a concrete block
Tied tight to both ankles and wrists
And resisting or wrestling weakens what will you’ve saved up,
Hoarded, bracing for the white years of empty everything ahead;

When you can’t get any lower, 
Head down to the basement.

You can only go up from here.