Conversation with the Tsatsawassa House

Bernadette: O sweet delightful house why do so many things get lost in you? House: Maybe you just dream you lose them. B: How do you know what dreams are? H: I pride myself on knowing everything you know. B: Oh, so you know we’re getting you new windows? H: I have trouble with no & know. With knew & new too. Why do people do that? B: I don’t know; I don’t mean I don’t no. H: See, you make it hard for a house. Anyway I don’t usually speak. B: Do you write poetry? H: I dabble. I don’t know if it’s poetry or prose though. B: It’s prose — it’s shaped like you. H: What about my roof? B: That would be a concrete poem. H: Even the time the tree fell through it? B: That would be a different genre, perhaps conceptual art. H: I’d like to climb mountains. You can leave me whenever you want but I’m stuck with you. B: What was it like when people prayed in you? H: It was kind of creepy. I liked the Jewish people better — more love of life. People can do anything they want to me, I’d like to be more proactive. I’m just stuck here. Even a cult could move in. B: I’ve never been a therapist for a house. How was your childhood? Were you born? H: I was made of mostly local stuff. Don’t set me me on fire. I tremble every time you light that wood stove. B: There was no heat when we moved into you; there were also 24 doors. H: Don’t blame me, I didn’t do it. B: You didn’t do anything but be here like an immobile tree, but you provided shelter. Can houses tremble? Do you have a sex life? H: None of your business. The sex life of houses isn’t known to humans, nor will it ever be. B: You seem to have mastered grammar but not homonyms. H: I liked it when I was unoccupied, full of birds’ nests on the porch & ghosts inside, I felt fulfilled. B: How did you like the Hebrew books? H: They reminded me of my bat mitzvah. B: You never told me you were Jewish. H: I thought you’d never ask.