Immovable
The plumb line snaps you in half.
You tattoo the chalkline.
Your mother fills up both buckets.
She gets your ballast.
Your father’s in the foundation.
You lay brick across his face.
Your brother’s in the dumpster.
You ignore his debris.
You wear your sister like a bandana.
She’s bright and easy to fold.
A plummet hangs from your belt.
You are the center of gravity.
Your density is irrefutable.
You are hard as rock.
You can’t take no for an answer.
When is a line not a line?
You dismantle the scaffolding.
There is no talking to you.
The blueprint’s taped to a board.
You disown the building.
Tori Grant Welhouse received her MFA from Antioch International in London and now coordinates the poetry reading series Imagine! in Green Bay. She recently published a chapbook, Canned, with Finishing Line Press. Her poetry has also appeared in many literary publications, and she recently placed third in the Kay Saunders Emerging Poet Contest. Her poetry website is www.houseofthetomato.com.
Portage Magazine 
