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The New House Speaks

By Christine Fina

The new house is starting to speak,

but the space is cautious.

It doesn’t know what to say or how to react.

It watches like a newborn, each eye wide-open

trying to grasp shapes,

trying to perceive sounds.

Out of the incubator it needs to be fed.

A Monet painting or Christmas candle,

A Tuscan table or tapestried rug.

These early days are critical,

each room needs conditioning.

Play a soft ballad or two,

make soothing sounds.

Allow conversations to linger into the evening,

resist sensory overload.

Over time it will move past simple reflexes,

welcome unfamiliar objects that fit its space,

bond with others, deciding what to be.

But it has time.

Without Windows

By Christine Fina

You and I can’t see out and in

without rectangular windows

framing our worlds, our thoughts.

The turquoise sky with slender clouds,

the golden sunrise, illuminating

each morning sight and sigh

each soaring plane and bird

can’t be our morning conversation, nor could the cars

that drive by cutting through each wooded area

be our quick lunchtime chat, as we wonder where their journey leads

today, tomorrow, tomorrow and today.

Our night-time closing thoughts, not heard, silently sitting,

in a room without a window, without clarity,

without spring-like greens and browns, changing, as we

dip our brushes into the palette, altering our picture,

adding new layers, as the colors change with each moment.

CHRISTINE FINA is a graduate of SUNY Buffalo State, where she won both the Joan D. Rosso Award and the Master’s Thesis Award. She taught English for five years in the Western New York area and is now working on a chapbook titled “The Unknown Spaces.”