for being out of things
how badly we want to leave
the house, it is a burn
the back of our thighs against
that tottering desk chair we meant
to replace six month ago—
far less than six months ago
do you remember leaving was
a chore (sometimes), we had
an errand! a trip! a visit!—
one thousand words for “leaving”
a full taxonomy for being out—
for being out of things we are
not used to being out of, here is
a divine lesson in frequency:
how often we tear paper towels and
chronically escalating 2-ply sheets of
fear and love, the same old hands—
we wash our hands twice and forever
now, we stand at the sink and
sing and sigh and sometimes (sometimes)
a cry ripens inside, wants to play, it
say, you aren’t going anywhere anyway—
anyway—how badly we miss you, everyone!
your friend and stranger smiles, even
sleeves that brushed in fast passing
no, please, you go right ahead!
the pattern crystallizes. we settle
into a novel, tight new cadence, these
memories come fast and in
colors now and who can blame us
if we always choose “rose”
