Yes I do have a fork preference
We are at the ninth out of ten
Stretching my back on the living room rug
Steadfast companion
The top shelf is our most spacious offering
If I google Roy Rogers will I learn horrible things
Unlearning hegemony as bildungsroman
I used to live in Boston
Twin-size inflated on the wooden floor
Milk crates for a closet
Plastic folding table as desk
For nearly twenty years I lived in seven hundred square feet or, most often, much fewer
I used to ride the subway alone at night
Amtrak to New York a couple times a month
Sleeping alone in the backseat in Wyoming, alone in the backseat in Black Canyon
Old hat, eventually
She asks, Did you feel safe?
Cat calls during every walking commute
You got your boots on
Every run
A little kid crossing the road alone for her first time
A teenager in Kohl's
A child on a field trip
A young woman in a new city alone
A young woman traveling across Spain alone
A young woman riding the subway alone
Honey you don't have to say it
Fuck!
Yeah, I said, I felt pretty safe
When I called him to Somerville he would come
Mono from the afterparty
Sock on the door handle
Then there's the whole friend issue
Loon painting and sounds
Yellow bowl on the coffee table
I bypass the water softener to water the plants
I can finish this living room in four steps: change out the rug, buy the blue chair, hang some art (the loons? the buffalo?) over the blue chair, frame the octopus
How can I defend it. Physical therapy has cost me fifteen hundred dollars
Metal basket filled with gardening magazines
The man at the yard sale almost didn't believe me
I am so laden as I come into this place
My goal is for every item in my home, or as close as I can get to it, to have a story
