In Our House

Carole Bromley

Foxes sleep in the pantry,
there are wasps’ nests on every ceiling.
I won’t smash them in their paper cathedrals.

In the hall, bats hang from the beams,
little upside-down mice,
the touch of their wings feather-soft.

Our house is floating out to sea,
I can feel the whales beneath us,
the dolphins nudge us along.

The water is up to my knees.
How beautiful the moon is,
caught in a cup. I open a window

and let in the stars. They perch
on chairs, on photo frames,
the old record player.

I eat my supper
wearing a life jacket.
In the kitchen the foxes are barking.