Remember the linoleum
yellowed with tiny blue-
cornflowered edges?
The base of a first home,
a first "yours" in beams
of sunlight. Sprinkled
over the cream counters
in dime-sized glow.
Snowed-in laughter
warming the windows.
A child wanders barefoot
through the house,
purple nightshirt
dragged over her shoulder
with sleep. She sucks
on the corner of a staticky
blanket and curls beneath
the table, on top of a moth
she cannot see. The clock ticks
along refrigerator mumble.
The front door opens
sunrise, top off a can
to spill mandarin up
the stairs, over the linoleum
in tiny wading pools.
Remember the man
with heavy hands, quietly
wrapping up a package
of tangled hair and deep
breath? A pink rose
pruned and dropped
deep-vased on the stove
for true morning
and a mother's rising eyes.
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