Shelter in a Place

If this is home, then let it have clean windows
that no bird ever flies into.

If this is a garden then I request sweet peonies and bleeding hearts
and herbs near the kitchen door.

If my hermitage, secluded, filled with art, and cats,
may the tourists be discouraged by the admission fee.

If my blanket, may its warm folds be sanitary,
may its warmth lend sanctuary.

If seclusion, will you come to me in dreams
or in small boxes?

If this is my springhouse, and provisions are left
to be discovered, may they be Valentines.

If my cloister, then, may I be illuminated.
Let my background be gold-leaf.

If prison, may the house remind me,
it has no slam locks, no steel doors, no roll calls.

If retreat, let me walk the labyrinth in solitude
until nouns and verbs can agree.

If a fort, then may it keep out contagion.
On its hot iron threshold, may virus turn to ash.

If therapy, then point to the place, say its name.
This is where it hurts.

If this is the plague of the firstborn, no wonder I feel marked.
My children have no immunity.

If this is a lifeboat,, then let me root underwater
until I find anchor.

Faith Paulsen’s work has appeared in the upcoming Thimble, a recent Evansville Review as well as anthologies such as 50/50: Poems & Translations by Womxn over 50 (QuillsEdge). Her poetry has also been published in many venues including Apiary, Front Porch, Mantis, Terra Preta, and Stone Boat. One poem was nominated for a Pushcart. Her chapbook A Color Called Harvest (Finishing Line Press) was published in 2016. She is a native New Yorker but loves living in the Philadelphia area, where she and her husband have raised their three sons.