House of all day; house on the sea, of doors no one knew how to enter; house of small country and green, green land; one full chicken house; family of six house; house built brick and lilac and lackluster wordlessness
House of dakota snow tunneling to the door, of ceilings tunneled low and tunneled windows tucked away; house of the swing-set and the lilac; children swinging spiders house; word-of-mouth house; house of ruined garden and neighbor, of a rattling apology, of sleep under pews
Howling house of mutts and beagles, the bones, the bones; parsonage house; parking lot house; library house; marshland house of small hands slipped over wire without a cry or word of it, of the crow’s nest house; landline house; actress house; house of sermon and skinned knees, of soft-boiled eggs; lilacs in swamp house
Two-story fort house; landfill and field house; of weeds replanted, of chestnut street and termite porch house; word-wasted house in the cement basement and pipe-anger house; house of heather and cherry, of coyote and lion; house of ramen noodle; house of midnight, of low-lit crawl-space; house of piled leaves, of bullets and bluegrass, of lilacs bloomed in thickets; of the horse-bucked woman dead house
House of hideout, of flatlands, of prairie, of miles and miles of nothing but wind-heat and sun; house of the dead woods; house of the war; house of whiskey, of scrawny sleep and cabbage, of rooftop and fire escape; house of the mutating cell, of the emptying six; house of blue dots; house of transient march or lucid living house or house of a prayer and a wandering desert
Karen Alayna Thimell, a Tulsa native, now lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she earned her MFA in Creative Writing. Her poetry has appeared in Connotation Press, Babel Fruit, and other journals.