{"id":2112,"date":"2021-10-26T18:22:04","date_gmt":"2021-10-26T18:22:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/?page_id=2112"},"modified":"2021-11-01T20:31:55","modified_gmt":"2021-11-01T20:31:55","slug":"ode-to-the-somerset-house","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/volume-2-fall-2021\/ode-to-the-somerset-house\/","title":{"rendered":"Two Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

Cori Camp<\/em><\/h4>\n
\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/h4>\n

Ode to the Somerset House<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

We turned you into a microphone, screaming into and throughout your walls, doors and rooms<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Used and abused you like the loversdrinksdrugs and fathers that floated in and out<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An upstairs bedroom that used to be baby blue now looks like a cloudy day covered in spackle from 15 years of teenage fury and frenzies<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The chipped step in the living room from constant leaps into the kitchen, feet landing in a small almost unnoticeable dent in tile<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A missing door from The Incident \u2122 years ago that\u2019s remained an open frame as a reminder of how terrifying a mother\u2019s rage truly is<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A Scrap of carpet scorched lightly and hidden under a bed frame–a group of pre-teens\u2019 first run-in with a lighter<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But you gave as good as you got<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Stitches in retaliation for broken gates, glass and cups<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Countless wounds received during games of Ghost spilling from the living room up the steps and beyond<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Twisted ankles and battered ribs in the play room, your towering cabinet filled with toys to the ceiling, crushing kids beneath its shelves<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A climb up the railing ending with a not-so-smooth landing<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The stairs themselves: a racetrack, deathtrap and slide, home to our Avalanche games that always ended in splinters and scrapes<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bumps and bruises from collisions, beanie baby wars, crashes over chairs and hair-pulling fist-flying fights in the arena of your walls<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For years the dents in your doors have matched bruises on our bodies, compared chipped and ripped paint to broken skin and bloody knuckles<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If your walls could talk, half of us would be in jail and the other in the nuthouse–all of us in therapy; you\u2019ve heard the worst breakups, the loudest and cruelest fights<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You\u2019ve been front row to genuine laughter, the declarations of love and hidden moments of sibling kindness<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The biggest lies and quietest truths from our mouths soaked into your very foundation<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When we\u2019ve all left<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When someone paints over the baby blue a new shade of family<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When steps are fixed and carpets replaced<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When those who roam your halls screw a new door to the hinges and don\u2019t remember why it was ripped down<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Remember us floating deep in your floorboards and running wild through pipes and growing through the spaces between your walls<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We will remember the scars painted and screams echoed and secrets held safe in shelter you gave when nothing else would.<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

If I could Love Poem<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

My brother asked me yesterday if I was in love<\/p>\n

I told him my chest hurt when I hear your name<\/p>\n

And he said it\u2019s close enough<\/p>\n

But I promise I won\u2019t tell you I love you because I\u2019ve given up on lying<\/p>\n

The calendar says it\u2019s been almost five months since my last one<\/p>\n

Even if a white lie could have saved a life a time or two lately<\/p>\n

You\u2019ve softened my soul enough that it would feel sacrilegious to tell one<\/p>\n

When I\u2019m tipsy enough I think of you as a Trojan horse filled with saints instead of killers rolled into my body<\/p>\n

Usually I don\u2019t get to keep the things that come to me<\/p>\n

So I wonder who will bleed for it<\/p>\n

Me for letting the saints starve inside me or you for thinking I couldn\u2019t turn them to killers anyway<\/p>\n

It\u2019s been hard lately to have the heart of a thief when<\/p>\n

you give me what I want so easily<\/p>\n

I haven\u2019t figured out how to write something happy<\/p>\n

even when my face is sore from smiling<\/p>\n

What I want to give you is warmth from my touch<\/p>\n

All I have is red hands that will stain yours<\/p>\n

But this has to be something divine if I feel sick thinking about burying it<\/p>\n

It might be love<\/p>\n

I feel loved, I think<\/p>\n

Warming my fingers for as long as I want to stare up at the stars<\/p>\n

Learning to pull my hair up as I lean over the bathroom sink with bile behind my teeth<\/p>\n

Let me conduct my benediction in the form of rug-burned knees<\/p>\n

Stay under the shower with me until the sun sets across the tile and the water is like the Atlantic in march<\/p>\n

Draw bandaids in red pen over my cuts and bruises so I can watch them while they heal<\/p>\n

It\u2019s become hard to believe this is the body that ever wanted to touch another<\/p>\n

That the eyes I have could look into someone else\u2019s willingly<\/p>\n

Now I know if my back breaks carrying your secrets I\u2019d crawl to keep them from touching the ground<\/p>\n

I know even being made of shadows I can\u2019t make myself mind when your light colors me invisible<\/p>\n

And if I feel your heartbeat echoing against my chest I can breathe like I have the lungs of my 17 year old self<\/p>\n

If this is love it hurts as sweet as the poets sob<\/p>\n

Is it normal to feel cold whenever I\u2019m alone<\/p>\n

Hold my hands over a flame until I can\u2019t feel them then press fingers to my cheeks<\/p>\n

So if I close my eyes you could be standing in front of me with your palms to my face<\/p>\n

Am I getting too dark again?<\/p>\n

I’ll listen to Big Thief on repeat until I feel you lie next to me<\/p>\n

Maybe then I\u2019ll feel less melodramatic<\/p>\n

I’ll start taking the pills with my name on them and stop touching flames<\/p>\n

If you only ask I\u2019d take whatever you put between my lips<\/p>\n

Is this what Juliet felt when she let the poison touch her tongue<\/p>\n

My mother has been telling me I look brighter<\/p>\n

Maybe it\u2019s what love does<\/p>\n

Maybe it\u2019s your slow poisoning of sunlight across my shadows<\/p>\n

It feels like love<\/p>\n

Like you have my heart between your teeth<\/p>\n

Like when this is over and you can\u2019t look me in the eyes<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll keep this poem as proof I think I loved<\/p>\n

Proof I had it if only until you got to my center to find it rotted<\/p>\n

If I could love it would be for you<\/p>\n

\n

Cori Camp<\/strong> writes, “I plan to graduate Spring 2022 with a major in English and minor in Creative Writing, then attend a graduate school for an MFA in Poetry. Proudly from Gloucester City, New Jersey.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Cori Camp \u00a0 Ode to the Somerset House   We turned you into a microphone, screaming into and throughout your walls, doors and rooms   Used and abused you like … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":442,"featured_media":0,"parent":1821,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2112","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nTwo Poems - Writers House Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/volume-2-fall-2021\/ode-to-the-somerset-house\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Two Poems - Writers House Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Cori Camp \u00a0 Ode to the Somerset House   We turned you into a microphone, screaming into and throughout your walls, doors and rooms   Used and abused you like … Read More\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/volume-2-fall-2021\/ode-to-the-somerset-house\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Writers House Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2021-11-01T20:31:55+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"6 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/volume-2-fall-2021\/ode-to-the-somerset-house\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/sites.rutgers.edu\/writers-house-review\/volume-2-fall-2021\/ode-to-the-somerset-house\/\",\"name\":\"Two Poems - 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