power puff girl bed

the old house grows hairy legs
& walks to me. i remember vines
on the brick shoulders. a crack widening
in the gills of the place. smooth wooden
floors & spearmint whispering 
all through the night. in my room, my dad
built me a power puff girl bed.
wooden & pink. i adored that show.
wanted to be powerful & still small. 
instead, i have grown. i think there was
a time when i could fly. i looked down
on the lamp lit little town. we did not
stay there long. i remember a snowman 
returning to water. his gutter ghost. 
i remember too a wooden spoon 
i used to dig in the wet dirt. the house is 
lonely now. stands like a sick creature.
sometimes i leave out bowls of cereal
& peanuts for her. she mopes. clips
her toenails & hurries back to the railroad tracks
that stitch the towns together. 
i wish i still had the power puff girl bed.
then i could sleep in it. experience once again
being a popcorn chicken. instead i sleep
in a plate. fork fishing for hair. i dream of 
going to the house. coaxing her over.
stroking her ruffled siding. feeling the fracture
that run up her side. climbing within
to be a little radiant being. spoon beneath my pillow.