Nate Houston // PROJECTS

I trip down the stairs

Grabbing for the light switch.

It’s dark in the basement.

The room hums with electricity.

I’m not afraid of the dark,

But without color, any room can scare me.


I see the things I look at.

Artifacts from projects paint the work benches.


One wall of tools is splattered with bismuth

From when dad burnt himself with it.

He has been working on growing a beard

To cover the scars on his face.


A bucket of scraps is still under the table

From my first dangerous project

When we built something spectacular.


The grinder,

Now disassembled,

Is stationed in the back corner of the room

Out of commission since dad grinded through his finger

While explaining:

“How to be Safe Around Grinders”.


A green military box sits upright


Filled with an arsenal

Of tools.


A potato cannon stands tall

After successfully firing over 100 yards.


Lexan glass sits propped against the wall.

The hole in the drywall behind it is evidence

That the glass was not bulletproof.


Our PlayStation 3

Is scattered around the room

Hard drive here

Disc drive there.

The colorful room still hums with electricity

And I see everything.


I don’t have any projects right now

So I turn off the lights

And scramble up the staircase

But I’m not afraid of the dark