I Didn’t Realize Her Parents Had Money


By John Grey

I look up at the north side of a huge frame house,
twice as wide, as high, as the one I live in,
rough pine shingles
brown with cream trimmings,
stained glass windows,
cupolas, cornices,
an architect’s history lesson.

How do you knock on the door of such a place?
What right has this fist?
A circular alcove, dark entrance –
this is not the way
to any place that will have me.

“When I’m not writing, I get anxious.” – the writer

View original post

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s