was propagating
an iridescent purple
plant that grew so
quickly I looked
away and when I
looked back it
had grown in
and around the
furniture and up
the whole wall
to the ceiling
it started to look
like scarred skin
a third degree
burn bubbling
and warped
dreams clutched
in our thighs
once it was always
now it's never
regularly at work
I open envelopes
that smell like soapy
perfume and are full of
handwritten notes
in warbling ballpoint
cursive on small
sheets of paper from
kitchen notepads
that have borders
with watercolor
flowers hummingbirds
etc, to explain each
and every enclosed
document medical
record receipt
and scrap of paper
I appreciate the
thoroughness
and imagine
the tiled countertops
slick plastic
landline phones
on the wall the local news
on the tv
in the next room
I imagine all of
these decorative stationary
equipped maybe
octogenarian women
as a network
of far flung sisters
from the old world
of longhand and
thank you notes
you look to me like
misty roses
too soft to touch
but too lovely
to leave alone
you look to me
like love forever
too good to last
but too lovely
not to try
