The stairwell smells of varnish
and the doorknob sticky with paint.
People were here: their sneeze and ache
residue fogs the air. For a moment, we live here
– making our way through their
living room and dust-covered master room.
Running our hands against bare
walls. Dropping hair strands in empty sinks.
Camels mix with cowboys and track
shoes with stilettos. Thoughts of pancakes and compassion
and car wrecks and permission filter, push away
the previous thoughts settled in the molding.
Layer them with the respons-
ibility to carry pain.
We walk out the way we came
because it's easiest. I can't speak quietly
when I'm cold. Before, we whispered non-secrets
into the carpet fibers for someone to hear.
Face pushed against the floor.
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