like something with
the lid off, and when
you opened the window,
we never had curtains,
in came the smells of fish
frying, smokers out on
the stoop, their stale exhalations,
a woman who won't stop yelling
you dirty, you dirty, you dirty.
It got so light in the afternoons
the dust was just another
discarded garment,
and there were mirrors we
never bothered hanging,
scallions growing,
spare keys that multiplied,
a table with a leaf inside it
that could seat as many
as was needed.
