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Portrait of a House
by
Mira Minkova
I feel her days are counted.
It is not good for houses to be yellowed and shabby
like the covers of some age-old book. No.
Our houses should be white,
to seem like little sterile hospitals.
Nothing to remind of their
previous ill owners.
But this house can talk!
She writes on the walls on her own language:
now a balcony repainted,
now a window that uncovers her antique wardrobes
and wise chandeliers.
She likes, she probably remembers the attention
of her million acquaintances: actors, architects, insane...
"There's no necessity for houses
to pretend they are actors!" -
I tell her silently, hoping
she will be there forever!
But she is not at all adjustable!
She is not easy! And she smiles, maybe.
She even laughs at me.
And she still thinks
that I see.
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