day 18: the center of the house

Track it back.

Here, storage.

Last place, the foot of the bed.

Before that, vertical electric wall furnace.

Before that, the crossroads of hallways.

Before that, it stretched from the kitchen to the back corner of the garage.

Before that, the landing.

Before that, another landing.

Before that, in between two extra-long twin beds.

Before that, the laundry room my mom designed herself.

Take it back.

First, it was wherever my dog slept, and whatever spot of summer sun my cat could find, the raspberries in full stock in July, the view over the back fence to the gorge foothills to the south, the hometree outside my window.

Then, the rooftop next door.

Then, half the second floor.

Then, my bed.

Then, my other bed.

Then, the whole place, to ourselves. Ours.

Then, our room.

Then, the living room. Another ours.

Then, three-hundred square feet of mine.

Now, it's every west-facing window.

Back.

Rinsing raspberries in the sink.

Wisteria hanging over the front porch.

Chirps from the birdfeeder.

Love across the hall.

Your sigh against my collarbone.

A balance between two.

Blossoms on a tree in the front.

The greenery all around.

Walking to rehearsal because we could.

My own, I could breathe. It smelled like tall ceilings could allow for more dust to float around.

Now, the rose gold bulb, and the promise of shining blues and open doors leading to who knows where.

In it all,

the sun

the sun

the sun

my love, the sun