The safest place I know
is existing in my own house.
Down the hall and up the carpeted stairs.
Then there’s a set of white doors.
Enter the room
but be greeted by clutter and mess.
It’s like a bird’s nest.
carefully arranged
In the center lay the sticks
that make up my nest.
Made up nicely,
the sheets tinted a pastel pink.
A rectangle cut into the wall
floods the room with a marvelous light.
A drape feathered over the sunshine,
dimming the lair.
I wrap my wings around me
and settle into the sticks and stones
that I collected over the years
of memories