I Move into a Castle

I move into a castle
once a factory
where alchemy
burned shells and limestone into dust.

Not gold but chalky
white. I always
wear shoes to keep my feet
from bruising. 

I should tell you 
the forest is not a forest 
but glass shattering
each time I slam 
a door. New windows
in place by morning.

Ivy climbs down walls,
empty towers with no
stairs but ringed with railings.

Wells with no water 
but darkness.

I play the piano
every morning,
Debussy, Beethoven.

When the neighbors
come to visit I pretend
no one is home but
I’m sure they can hear
the sound of breathing.

The kiln fires so
hot I’ve lost all
sense of time.

—

Hannah Kroonblawd