If this house were a woman

If this house were a woman,

She’d be told,

She looks good for her age,
Not really old.

Heading into her second century,

She’s got a few wrinkles,

A few joints that creak.

She suffers from incontinence,

Under the kitchen sink.

The plaster carries scars,

From a ladder of years,

Evidence of movement and growth,

The legacy of child-sized mountaineers.

She’s got good bones,

And a strong foundation.

But neglect and patchwork fixes,

Detract from her reputation.

If this house were a woman,

She’d fetch few winning offers,

For nothing depreciates more than a woman,

When time's an unwelcome stalker.

Dissonance

I am a time traveller,

shape shifter,

life jumper.

Past lives intersect in my nightmares and day dreams

They crash into each other at odd angles

Small town signs on big city streets

Asian smells in country kitchens

Beds unfamiliar and lives unfinished

Evolution and reincarnation with every rotation of the earth.

Where I am is where I am not.

Body and mind disconnected,

One constantly pulling the other into alternate realities.

The wheel always turns,

But time folds in on me.

That once straight arrow

Is bent and creased like discarded origami