Cottey College, Nevada, Missouri, USA
It’s a shoebox of a room;
A shut window, a home fit for a fly
A poor woman’s tomb
Shipwrecked in an interstice of time
Its bony frame trembles, stretched in skin
Oak wood doors and linoleum floors
Desiccated, a man’s hair thinned
No tangible history, or veiled folklore.
A closet stands in the corner
Arms crossed, hooks hanging down
Peering with scorn at the foreigner
Who measures his narrow stance with a frown.
But this place is mine, if only for a while
A new home, a comfortable exile