The chipped teacups
the bed that’s been slept in
the curtain pushed aside
to let light make its way, settle in
and illuminate the dancing dust.
The laundry hamper, half-full
the milk in the fridge.
The textbooks on the table
the speaker and the iPod
with their sweet, sweet sound.
The glasses cast aside
the swimsuit stashed away
for six months to come.
The stuffed animals
growing sad on the shelf.
The well-worn paperbacks
holding each other for support.
The flannel pajamas
and the photographs that smile.
The camera, wise lens pointed to the world
the old, empty birdhouse.
The doors, never fully closed
but never fully open either.
the bed that’s been slept in
the curtain pushed aside
to let light make its way, settle in
and illuminate the dancing dust.
The laundry hamper, half-full
the milk in the fridge.
The textbooks on the table
the speaker and the iPod
with their sweet, sweet sound.
The glasses cast aside
the swimsuit stashed away
for six months to come.
The stuffed animals
growing sad on the shelf.
The well-worn paperbacks
holding each other for support.
The flannel pajamas
and the photographs that smile.
The camera, wise lens pointed to the world
the old, empty birdhouse.
The doors, never fully closed
but never fully open either.
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