09-03 This House

This house.

This temporary stop-over solution.
has-

a kitchen nook built for drinking coffee
where I sit writing this poem,
drinking my chopped, strained, soaked, local blend,
from a press built for two, beneath a money tree,
that's made the trip from Tahoe to Portland
and still manages to smile in the morning years later.

a biggish bedroom filled with light and noise from the street,
but mostly,
a glaring of brilliant sunlight soaking into
the polished yellow grain of a replaced  hardwood floor,
where my things pile into zipped and organized past lives-
my nest collecting dog hair in the re-construction efforts

a couch,
green, big, wide, where I curled up, last night,
watching you from on a distance on the big screen fight zombies,
hugging them, batterering them with your butterball of joyness,

while,
falling slowly

I sat down,
I sat down,
not willing to move,
I didn't move,
watching you on the screen,
on this couch big enough for two,

thinking,
about red balloons floating away-

this house.