Homes at Night: #2077


This is part of a series of poems I did based off the photography of Todd Hido. The titles are the house numbers from the pictures. This poem was written about 10 years ago and I still have a hard time reading it aloud.


The street is empty and cracked, dry like desert
earth and the fragrance of mowed grass
and a light which seems to come from nowhere
layer the night.

This corner is harder than its own stone, it slants
to nowhere, cut off in the frame of memory
and there is still the problem of a light in
the front window and mother silhouetted

against the curtain. Her shadow is an absence.
I know he is gone and that is why. I remember
when her arms took me up at 5 am she said,
“no school this week, you don’t have to go”

I did not know why, until after she put me back
to bed, warm in covers, falling off the bed
to nowhere, and I heard her weep in the living
room. She was separate, cut off, another woman

than she was minutes before, a shadow
of a shadow, and I felt myself move to sleep,
further away from her than ever, slanting off to nowhere.

2077Photo is the work of Todd Hido.


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