Poetry By Lauren Nolan

       Katie Taylor CC



Made of Bricks
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How do you say goodbye to a house
familiar creaks, familiar draughts
the coolness of the painted bedroom doorknob
- why was it painted at all
I would measure the gaps between the banisters
using different body parts as I grew
first my whole leg would fit through
then just my calf
then just a foot
I’d sometimes sleep with my face pressed against the cold wall-
to still know how the wall smells
and the texture of the paint beneath my small fingertips
The rumble of the sewing machine
telling me all was right in the world
the rough carpet with tiny flecks of red if you looked close enough
And the secret space under the stairs
forbidden but so alluring
the scent of metal tools and untreated wood
I’d finger the varnished slats and open the door to peek
creak
only to hear a voice from the kitchen and shut it again
The kitchen island that made me feel so big when I sat to eat,
or when I’d make my witchy potions from 30 herbs and spices
but most of all,
the fig tree that felt like family; a homage to our heritage
the fruit that tasted of summer;
I hope they keep the fig tree
I hope they keep the fig tree
I don’t know how to say goodbye to my home with the scotch finger bricks
or what you will look like now,
but thank you for the safety, the lessons, and even the heartache-
you were the vessel in which so much life happened

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Lauren Nolan is the author of upcoming poetry collection The Thread (due to be published in Jan 2023). She is working on her first novel regarding the mysticism of secret societies in the late 1800s. When she isn't writing, Lauren reads tarot cards, blends herbal tonics, and makes a killer strawberry jam.