Dwelling
Come to my house for it is empty.Chairs wait to be dimpled,
wooden boards to be scratched,
the hob to be warmed.
They breathe patiently into the quiet.
Come to my house and we will dance.
Music will play and we will sway,
the walls will hear,
our bones will remember.
You will want to stay, to rest.
Come to my house, where I can protect you.
Make a bed from gathered feathers,
dry your clothes with the heat of hearth,
fill you with broth, distilled from winter,
draw the curtains on the obnoxious sun.
Marcelle Newbold loves poetry as a way of exploring inner spaces, place and inheritance. Her poems have been published in magazines, and in recent anthologies by Wild Pressed Books and Maytree Press. In 2020 she was Pushcart nominated. A poetry editor for Nightingale & Sparrow, she lives in Cardiff, Wales, where she trained as an architect. Twitter: @marcellenewbold instagram: @marcellenewbold, soundcloud: marcellenewbold.
Banner: The Stage. A Painting (acrylic on paper). Robert Frede Kenter (c) 2021. Twitter: @frede_kenter
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