Your steel chair is a wheelbarrow
now.
Left out in the yard; lonely like a spotlight.
Winter for hours like water.
Frozen water.
Pipes that burst.
Breath hangs, in front of the face; making steam of a paint swatch.
***** grey/loose white/loose light: carpet samples,
you write your name on the floor.
Feel my whiteness; tremors that shook
soil from roots
and steps from staircases.
Your steel chair is a wheelbarrow,
now you wonder if you can still sit,
wonder what it means to sit;
to let gravity in.
Winter is hours. So many hours
spent ducking in from room
to room. And so many more waiting
for the next room.
Your wheelbarrow is a wagon,
if you want it.