your house is crazy.
ah, and how I love you
for that crazy house,
with the patio and the
garden overflowing
with flowers, potted
and in beds.
your house is crazy,
don't the neighbours
say so? and they should
know, as they've been
married to each other
for decennies...
your house is crazy,
the walls outside painted
yellow, twice -
did you ask the landlord
for permission?
your laughter all the
answer I need.
the ledges, painted red,
lipstick red -
suddenly, a foreign
country lives in a loud
back yard.
your house is crazy.
beneath the wild wine,
you hang up trinkets,
a mirror being the most
inocuous one.
Do you know you have
half of an arm dangling
on your wall, I said
recently, sipping sweet tea
during breakfast. Your
laughter, again, the
only answer I need, or
want.
You eat, and lick the
spill from your fingers,
which your lover takes
over doing - „I can't get
it off, she keeps tasting
sweet“, he says, after having licked,
and licked... and we
all laugh, shy wonder and
gratefulness mingling
in me, the smiling witness,
whom your generosity has
helped to heal much envy of love.
your house is crazy. from
two flats, you create paradise:
A loft in the girls' room gives
them so much universe to be
in. Liam's room which David
now shares, where your things
are stowed safely in a huge
storage rack – the eye being
caught more by the orange
canopy under which your son
will sleep at night, gently easing
down the high ceiling to create
a protective space.
your house is crazy, I said,
but maybe I have
misunderstood what being
crazy is all about. is it crazy
to not bother closing the
bathroom door because the
idea of voyeuristic intention
doesn't cross the children
passing by? Is it crazy to
steal huge slabs of stone from
riverbeds at night to recreate
some of what you love about
the countryside outside your
front door?
Your house is crazy. It breathes
colours, trinkets, beautiful stones,
flowers you either grew or
stole somewhere, „From a front
garden,“ you scream with
laughter and excitement,
and after that, I've started
thinking differently about
collecting flowers from public
parcs. Would my parents let me
play with you if we were still children?
Your house is crazy, It must run in the
family: I've seen your old place, and it
was crazy, in that way, too,
with your intention of making
a home apparent in everything
you took yourself to. And
after your husband cast
you out, you just grew it
anew, where fate cast you.
so the skill, well – babe,
it's just the way you breathe
love on everything that you do.
Your house is crazy. I'm glad
I'm starting to take after you.
My house isn't crazy, but
I'm learning to let myself be,
and gladly so – hoping one day,
I'll be just as crazy in love as
the two of you.
für J&A
