Architects

Architects

A.A. Gunther

It well may be that you and I 
Live by decree of the same die;
The selfsame simple at our cores,
That all my impulses are yours. 
It well may be that you and I 
Dwell in a place that we rely
On—each of us—to make ends meet,
But one’s abstract and one concrete.
Our disagreement, then, it seems
Is: which is it that dwells on dreams 
Between us two? It isn’t “neither”:
Each scheme declares the other ether. 
You say, triumphant, at your door, 
“Here is a house without a flaw,”
And I, who see below to Hell,
Reply as did the Southern belle 
Insisting to the apostate 
Out listing ghostly real estate
That mortal feet need things to pound on:
“What are y’all gonna walk around on?”

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A.A. Gunther
Writer & Poet

A. A. Gunther is a legal writer from Long Island, New York. Her short fiction can be found in Dappled Things, while her poetry appears in The Friday Poem, Mezzo Cammin, New Verse Review and ONE ART and is forthcoming in Trampoline and elsewhere. She has eight younger siblings, at least two of whom can vouch for her character. 

Photography by anait film