Hierarchies

 

Artwork © Mark Mawer, 2017

 

I inherit a house at the edge

of wild forests where I rarely go.

 

There will come a time when lost,

walking the back streets of memory,

 

I check every gate for a way out.

Only one door handle fits my palm.

 

A found story I never thought

I was missing; my home, dark

 

monument recognises my hand.

God forbid this mistake of certainty,

 

for it brings familiarity of place,

it reduces everything to beginnings

 

until I admit that what is gone is taller

than me, louder, and always right.

 

Ask Jonah. He would say the same:

People see monuments as lessons of hierarchy.

 

They decide the order of things

according to confining walls.

 

© Maria Stadnicka, 2020