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in the cities all the offices
have closed now every home is an office I wake up in my office in my bed spread sheets safe in a crisis out the window the city is covered in invisible danger out the window a blue day happens my boss calls from a remote part of the same city from upstairs from the bedroom from speakers in my head the forbidden blue happening to other people & to everyone she says wants me to show her my face my bare bone walls where all the cracks are inside from Profit
In the room where we remove still-tied shoes, where we have warm oatmeal & hot coffee, where I recovered from injuries with a cat laying on top of where it hurt, & in the room where in the morning I feed the cats & make oatmeal & coffee & where I taught myself to fill a place with the smell of freshly baked bread or smoke, & in the room where I sleep & you sleep or don’t sleep & where we struggle to wake & where our tooth-brushed mouths find each other & where above the bed we hung a print of a small white house alone near water we imagine we’re living in our home. |
