Because I came in too early.


I added all the hours I?ve spent waiting for

they would celebrate their own

They would have their own secret
language of

raised eyebrows, gray hair tucked
behind ears.

They would have silent
fights in sunlit rooms,

measuring their paces
on polished tiles.

Dust would not cling to
their curtains.

Night would bring peace to
their faces

But the next day, their
children would know.

Their children will grow
up respectful of

words, and the fragility of
bare spaces, and

fold their blankets before
they leave.

They will call one another at
the proper time.

They will talk menus, motifs,

They will collect relatives and
coach them to yell

happy anniversary within
seconds of the door

Opening, and who
should be gaping there but

you, late as