Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man's house. Not a daddy's. A house all my own. With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody's garbage to pick up after.
Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.
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From "The House on Mango Street"
By Sandra Cisneros
YOU ARE READING
Poetry 101
PoetryThis is a collection of poems for fellow poetry lovers. (I didn't write any of these)
