I saw this prompt yesterday on the Real Toads blog but was too wearied by our first week of house visits to reply. Waiting, trying to breathe calmly before the next onslaught on Monday.
I sit in this room,
in a bubble shot with rainbowed fish and fur,
scented like the rose.
Beyond, behind, above,
the house, my house stretches,
desert dry and unfamiliar,
a foreign land,
prowled by visiting avid-eyed sharks and the blandly curious.
Strangers touch and poke,
to see if the glass is real,
the doors open and close as they should,
are these knotted boards really woody wood,
and I hunch among waving fronds of gentle sea flowers,
hiding from the sharp twitches of displeasure or greed
that storm the placid ocean of my house,
waiting for them to leave.