Come, Friend.
I'll show you around the house and tell you all the trivial things that remind me of her.
(Here in the hallway)
These stacked, empty shoeboxes,
That I now keep my poems in,
These bare walls that I suppose,
She could make a better use of,
(In the living room)
This monochrome vintage tv,
That she'd have thrown out,
My books lying haphazardly on the table,
That she'd have cleared up,
My guitar that hasn't been restrung for 7 months,
The pictures of Dutch tulip fields,
The multilingual posters on the wall behind the TV,
Like a pretentious polyglot,
(Now,the kitchen)
And this bitter fragrance of tea leaves,
This divine scent of cardamom,
Rising from a hot cup of tea,
The rattle of kettles,
These dying rose petals,
Parmesan and cheddar,
The cheesier the better,
All of that pickled food,
According to my mood,
The battle of spices,
Those gingerbread slices,
Everything-
Everything reminds me of her.
"She's but a figment of your imagination,friend."
She's but a figment of my imagination, friend?

have you ever looked
at a house and felt
a crippling pain that
you couldn’t go in it?

i have
every day i see my own
front porch
and every day i see the house
still in someone else’s name
but not for much longer

the first hurt is raw
ripping and searing
through my heart
and running into hot
cinnamon fire tears
burning my cheeks

the second hurt is dull
stinging like a
badly sharpened knife
over skin or knowing
what your birthday
present is but having
to wait while not
letting on you know

i grew accustomed to
the custom of becoming
myself in this house
but the walls i grew up in
grew inward too tightly
around me to choke me

and still i have
a pillow to bury my
face in at night
a shower to wash off
the day dust
a kitchen to stand in
when i’m feeling
a bit lost

but lost is the only
feeling i have
when i’m here
in this house

i don’t live here
anymore

i live on my feet
behind counters
through the parking lot
and up the sidewalk

slipping in before
the sun is up
and dragging out
when others are in bed

feeling small
on a dull afternoon
when i can only curl
up on the couch
to think
and wait

time in between
that’s now

time between shifts
and time between living
in my house
and finding my home

it’s not so much
the waiting game
it’s the feeling
that i’m alone

that nobody
wants me

so close and
yet so far
almost there
but stuck here

just keep
the worn floors clean
music playing
and make sure
the janky old doors
are locked at night

this is my town
this is my home now

this town will take
care of me

as i’m wandering through it
halfway homeless

No need to knock
I don't mind
But I request you not to
carry the lantern inside

For I am afraid of the light
and this is the only place left to hide

My sleeves unfolded
Do you mind?
To conceal the cuts on my skin
and the stench of necrosis alkaline

Yes I am afraid of the light
and this is the only place left to hide

If you seek welcome
in my mind
your heart must bleed darkness
and restless should be your eyes

Are you afraid of the light?
Come, friend - this is our place to hide

Death lives within these walls.
It seeped up through the attic rafters,
Settled down in the furthest recesses,
And it waited for me.

I know you, Death.
We become more familiar with each passing day.
You are the movement in my peripheral in an empty room;
The whisper in my ear originating from nowhere;
The hair on my arms and neck standing, unprovoked;
The unease slowly building within me.

The cat knows you, too.
I see her watching you as you move throughout the house,
Never turning her back to you.
She is protecting me.
Even when you call her name, she will not leave my side.
She arches her back in warning when you get too close -
Is she warning you to stay away?
Or warning me that you are approaching?

I sense you are getting stronger, Death.
I feel you when you slink up beside me and linger there -
But yesterday you touched me.
It froze me to my soul, and to the spot where I was standing.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
Gripped by a terror I've never known before,
But understand I will know again.

My light is slowly fading into your darkness
And I feel helpless to stop it.
What do you want from me, Death?
And how far will you go to get it?

The morning sunlight
on our face, our house
of brownstones, the promise
of the future that we chose

It is really starting now, we will
walk along the channeled stream
and the children will play
under the pines on the hill

Here we want to root
broadly and deeply
until the sun sets

We have unpacked our stuff
the cards with congratulations
next to the vase with tulips

the bed open
the house inaugurated