I love seeing the inside of your home.
I love seeing your cats perch on
Your chair, your children tear through the
Room, your small dogs nestled on your lap.
I love your houseplants and your dressers,
And for those of you who are good
With technology, I love your fancy
Backgrounds and what they say
About your souls: you love San Francisco,
Or would live in a jungle given the choice,
Or are a priestess of the occult
With a hundred candles and one giant cat.
I love your couches and your kitchen cabinets,
Your hanging pot racks, your bed piled
With laundry or perfectly made,
Your bare walls or tastefully hung art,
Your surprisingly inspirational bookshelf
Decorations: “Believe” in silver script.
All these years we’ve worked together
And only now that we are far apart,
Can we be this unguarded. I remember
My seventh grade boyfriend—we never
Spoke at school, but on the phone at night
There were no secrets between us.
My fellow meeting attendees, we
Are like that now: so separate, so far
Apart that we can finally invite each other
Into our holy of holies.
From the series, “Bathtub Pandemic Poems.”
