I loved your big windows
And your bright living room
And the way I could dance on your smooth, hardwood floors
You opened your doors
And I brought in my boxes
And you helped me carry them up the stairs
I did not want to take over your place
But I wanted to put my flowers on your kitchen table
I wanted to leave my paintings above the bed-frame
And you let me.
And at night I would walk down your hallway and listen
To your clock ticking to the sound of my heartbeat.
But I had moved in too soon
And too heavy
My flowers got dry and thrown in the garbage
My paintings: put back in my box
You told me it was time to go back to my house
To grow my own garden
To light my own kettle
And you offered to walk me home.
You had been there before
But not in some time
And I was sure I could help us find it.
We left your front porch and I stared out in silence.
“Was it left or right?” you asked, but I did not know.
My house, was it near here?
Was it two stories? Or blue?
Was my bed near the window?
Were my shelves full of books?
I told you I wanted to find it alone
And you gave back my boxes and went back inside.
I could not find it. I had forgotten.
I knocked and I slept at a small red house
But I could not fit my boxes
I didn’t like the smell of the sheets
I rang the doorbell and ate dinner at a narrow grey apartment
But the chairs were uncomfortable
The lights were too dim.
I wanted to go back to the familiar sound of your clock
I would sleep in your bath-tub just to dance on your floors
But you had other guests
You changed your locks.
And so, I began building.
I wanted floors like yours but two shades lighter
I put in windows like you had, but I drew my own curtains
And soon, my mail came to my doorstep
My bathroom smelled like sandalwood
My potted plants grew greener
And I am not ready to come back for the bracelet I left on your night-stand
And I don’t want the mud from your shoes on my doormat
But maybe I like that you taught me how to adjust my thermostat
And clean out my basement
And maybe you miss me running your faucets
And folding your blankets, your towels.
My house is built on our common ground
But you do not live here
And you may never see the colors I painted my window sills
You may never hear the funny sound my laundry machine makes
Here, I grow my own flowers.
Here, I have my own seeds.