Standing in each stanza—no, I’m sorry—room. Standing in each room waslike standing in a tester stroke of wall paint.
All these blobs of colors in rows and columns, the size of thumbs.Together—a portrait of potential.
But blues leaped to yellow leaped to burgundy. There was no order of hues.I told Charlie I didn’t know why I kissed anyone,
except that I wanted to, I’ve been living without any consequences to otherpeople
because all my life I’ve thought about other people, I’ve tried to get thelavender to like me,
the copper to stay my friend, the lemon, the jade, the maker’s mark, Ipoured drinks for all the people
and still couldn’t fit them in my rooms. I had to sleep in each one, one at atime—
to know what living in my house was like. And I learned…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2022