Pink House: Early Autumn
Daybreak, after the first cool night,
the light, one shade of a murmur, anemic sun still wan,
a sprain dawning, my name called without salutations,
followed by knocks, apt to breach slats and shutters.
Another pecan drops, pummels shell to surface when hard
meets harder and hardest, unwanted superlatives.
The doorknob twists tarnished, semi-circles, arcs
rattling, a pre-cursor to ranting, wails,
the refrain: let me in, let me in, its own landfall,
a calloused hand’s hard heel slams in impulse
against the door hinged to the life I made,
my pink house so small, with fickle glass,
struggling to withstand, the size of a hothouse,
where fragile, unforgettable orchids bloom.
From We’ve Got Some Things to Say: Reshaping Narratives Around Sexual Violence (Amherst Writers & Artists Press, 2024). Reprinted with the permission of the poet.
Gina Ferrara
Gina Ferrara is the author of six poetry collections: The Rooted and Recurrent (The University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press, 2026); Amiss (Dos Madres Press, 2023); Weight of the Ripened (Dos Madres Press, 2020); Fitting the Sixth Finger: Poems Inspired by the Paintings of Marc Chagall (Kelsay Books, 2017); Amber Porch Light (Word Tech Books, 2013); and Ethereal Avalanche (Trembling Pillow Press, 2009).