poem~Under Eaves Crowded

Under Eaves Crowded

purple thumbtacks
on the map
places seen
is there still a 
t.v. downstairs?
foiled antenna?
I have searched
in laundry room baskets
under the crocheted
lazy-boy blanket
dusty balls of
cat hair breathing
in the corners

peepholeand me lost beneath
the eaves I have a 

hard time
keeping the bourbon
filled in my glass
because everything
appears empty
when I look
too hard to find you.

Nikki Lockhart


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