The House Once there was a house. Once there was a choice. The house was made of inside, while the choice lived outside. Before that, there were many other choices, all outside, too, but that could be gotten to because the house had a door that opened, allowing a going out and a coming in, and had, and did. But then came this choice, of surprise and delight and innocence, more than any other. A choice made wholly of outside, it could not come in, but rather must be gone to and embraced. Surprise. Delight. Innocence. Yet a choice to which the responsible door should not open. The house suddenly so bounded, so permanent, so… shut. The windows, with their crosshatched bars, gazed out at…
Martha Engber – Two Poems of Vulnerability
