a house I have lived inYou are a house I have lived in.
The walls dark and rich,
the molding crisp, still fresh with new paint,
feeling revitalized yet looking old, classic.
I have memorized the layout,
am capable of walking the darkened halls without a hand on the wall,
able still to find a way to the lighted hearth.
You are stories I have heard again.
Words etched in my skin,
highlighted on the back of my eyelids
so that even when the tangible has been ripped away
the words still echo through me--
filling the empty space in its wake where it spills.
A road I’ve walked barefoot,
the gravel against my callused skin reminding
me of human fragility,
but also a visible sign of behind.
The miles I have trekked to have strong feet
and an even stronger compass in my chest.
Destination still out of sight, but near enough
to feel in my bones, to twitch in my legs.
Memories of the journey’s end playing through me, teasing me,
telling me again where it is I get to move toward.
Nearing the bottom of a hill,
a peak of something just beyond the crescent of earth,
still indistinguishable but--
Copyright © 2016 Annie Lindenberg
Annie Lindenberg spends the majority of her year in Boston, MA where she is studying Writing, Literature and Publishing at Emerson College. Along with her creative writing pursuits, she also writes film and television reviews as a staff writer for Emertainment Monthly.