Black House

by Mark Reep

Where will I go now? Oh, 

I don't know. I dreamt once

a child's drawing of a house

all scribbly black crayon

swayback roof crooked

chimney. God, do you

remember how cold it was

that night? Oh, that's right

you weren't there. I tried

to call a fire, but fire

never liked me. That all

seems so long ago. I don't

get cold much anymore.