Ode to the Summer Houses of Maine

The fog in the couches
the white slurry salt cellar

sticky sand carpets
and cold clammy bedsheets

lured by black mold spores
to live
in the wetness

by proffering
they've caught us
and tamed us

we build them
near endless
new surface
to cover

we feed them our
crumbles and
towels and

We are the
mold slaves
the dumb mildew

we scrub when we get there
but why, is the question

the moisture is stronger
mold whispers
the mildew
seeks dark spots
and waits out our bleaching


Ann-Patrice Hickey