My friend Michelle is doing a writers residency in Argentina- lucky girl!  The theme she is working on is ‘Home.’ She asked me to write a piece for it and I figured since I’ve been quasi-homeless since I left London this would be an appropriate subject for me to write about.

Here’s the result. Poetry is not really my forte so I’m open to your thoughts and insights. Thanks for reading!

Butter or Woes of a Privileged Bohemian

In my last sublet
a cold basement suite
East of Fuck All
below a noisy family
with two young boys
who liked to have stomping contests
at 7 in the morning above my bedroom
my butter stayed out
on the counter
never melting.
A solid block,
I’d sliver layers off with a knife
spreading holes in my toast.

In this sublet
a one bedroom apartment
in the West End
on the top of five stories
with hardwood floors
a view of the mountains
and blasting ever-on heat
my butter
has turned to syrup
curdling
on the counter;
thrown out
before the toaster pops.