The Elysian*
or *she will study
This year, the walls here
will ring with the clink of glasses and tap
of plates passed among friends, family, and lovers.
Other times, absorb the shuffle and rustle
of quiet privacy, a solitude to where she can escape and recover.
This year, the air here
will hold a healing silence that bends easily
into and out of echoes of music, roars of laughter, and sighs of relief;
while over and around the flicker of good news,
unwrapping of new shoes, and the comings-true of dreams.
This year, the door here
will barricade against the disingenuous
thresh of the city, repel the selfish and insincere,
only to allow crossing by those with capacity to love,
respect, inspire, assist, uplift, rescue, and protect her.
This year, everything here
will be clean, everything soft save for the towels
which will be coarse, of course. Every function flawless,
every debt paid, every sponge holstered,
and every piece of laundry folded for her.
This year, this home here
will be host to a more than occasional clutter:
equipment of creativity, the surfaces strewn with
materials and things she creates with her hands.
Here, she will be prolific and her projects in demand.
And she will memorize the ceiling. She will study
and examine every texture and crevice, every device,
smudge and shine; so that one day when she leaves,
she will retain it and remember the joy and repose
that occurred here, underneath it, undisrupted, all the time.
I'm always seeking critique.
This started as a love letter I scribbled into a card slipped into gift for a charming girl to celebrate signing a lease on her very first apartment.
