Woman Lives In House Made of People (Weekly World News) by Matthea Harvey

They were lonely. I was alone.
Out of those two sentences,

I made myself a home. My house sighs,
has a hundred heartbeats, dimpled

cupboards and a pink mouth for a mailbox.
There’s always a tangle of legs in my bed.

O the walls have eyes, the baseboards
have toes. The decorative molding (rows of noses)

twitches and sniffles, and at the end
of the sad movie, the tears on my face

are not only my own. but now the outside
feels all wrong—trees not breathing,

sidewalks unspeckled by a single freckle,
and blazing over everything, a faceless sun.

— Matthea Harvey (A Public Space #15, 2012: 36. Print.)