Tuesday, April 21, 2009

room with a view

When I first acquired you, I didn't know how to handle you.
Bare walls with a random poster
or cheap, white Wal-Mart clock
strewn about; the days were footsteps into September
before I arranged you,
floors covered in K-Mart shag half-rugs,
thrown up in 1975.
But a summer away gave me a better view
of what I could do with you.
Vomit rugs gone,
electric green sheer curtains in place,
a white and bright polka dot comforter
covered my bed--the polka dots matched the colors
I painted the letters of my moniker,
affirmed vertically on my wall.
Bookshelf and souvenirs from my single travels placed--
the last time I saw Jose in Tampa,
the seashells I collected in New Smryna Beach--
my room became the home I'd dreamed of--
the perfect lighting,
windows always opened to the natural air,
low jazz or whatever artist was suiting my mood on my boombox
or if working at my desk, on my iTunes.
That room was mine,
perfect, ephemeral, welcoming.
But in my hurry to leave
that town I blamed for my problems,
I forgot to kiss my room goodbye.

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