Dignity in the Home

    All the chairs and the long brown couch just lay

    down on the floor in a line and the thin

    curtains joined them， sort of on the side

    or fluttering down onto them and I watched

    thinking this is the kind of loneliness I

    should've known about and this is nonsense： I object.

    But the furniture line was so heavy

    it went right out the door and some of my

    neighbors' lamps joined in， the tails

    of extension cords and paths of towels and bedding

    went straight down the lawn to the lake where

    even my toothbrush and coffee mug with the cats

    on it had slunk， so dejected it didn't

    even matter they were in the water with some

    cold rocks and a clam. All were loaded down

    with the despair so poignant in furnishings， each

    I tried to coax back into the house， gathering

    the alarm clock and frying pan from the lake，

    but， almost politely， they moved from

    my hands back down to that cold home

    with the fierce clam， who guarded them

    from my confusion. They were so quiet

    about it， I love them. My pajamas floated

    with such purpose， reached for the laces of one of my

    old tennis shoes out nearly to the reef，

    reached without expectation.