Samantha Moya

I.
Endless amber glass,
spice racks,
a proper pantry.

We settled in late July
the evening winds mixed with that
smell of rain that hangs in the air
next to the new stream of lights we put up.
We relish monsoon season.

This little place breathes with the wind,
it has a heartbeat, a circulatory system,
sometimes we hear it murmuring,
and the attic, it whispers to us:

                            You have yet to fill me with
                            Your sentimentality
                           Your harbingers
                           The furniture you don’t know where to put

II.
“I am just part of these walls now,”
I noted despondently one evening during a dinner party.

I know my words quiver, a mouth full of affection and insults,
sometimes doors in this house only open

To reveal more doors.

III.
The yard was always the most difficult project.

In the beginning, we considered letting the weeds take over,
and we’d simply play in the jungle.
We didn’t want children, but sometimes still
we wanted to be childlike.

Instead of a jungle, we came to have
planters with tomatoes
an apple tree
and a rosebush snaking up the side of the house.

We would still take turns complaining about pulling the weeds.
Eventually, when sickness hit, the weeds took over.

IV.
Hobbies come and go
my abandoned remnants of knitting in the den,
but you were always an artist,
charcoal fingerprints adorn the walls
you once drew my portrait, framed it for the entryway.

I never shared my drawings with you
I hid them away, not quite as high as the attic
but in a box in the guest room closet.

I think I’ll try flower pressing next.

V.
Sometimes we get out the binoculars
and sit on the roof deck

Soft people with a passion for hard sciences
Pulsars
Black holes
We can’t understand quantum physics
But we also can’t figure out some of the microwave settings

VI.
Extra drywall in the garage
Purchased when we repaired a wall I punched

You remarked that I was lucky
I didn’t punch one of the brick walls
“Rather the wall than your hand,” you said.

You accidentally damaged more walls
Moving furniture into the basement
And then back out again
When you started sleeping in the guesthouse

Dead leaves cover the guesthouse door now
We swapped weekly dates for weekly therapy

VII.
We decorate the stairwell again
and again, and again
Should we put a frame here?
Let’s not.
Sometimes what’s empty
Looks better.

VIII.
Animal graveyards in the backyard
Dead flowers in the trash can
You still surprise me with sunflowers from the grocery store
I still bring you lavender from my morning walks

You thought there was nothing more splendid
than fresh flowers in the house
You said that one’s attitude toward flowers
says something about their character
“How’s that?”
“A lot of people don’t think they’re worth the money,
because they die so quickly.”
You said some people just have so little appreciation
for that which expires quickly
they cannot enjoy beauty for what it is
While it is
While it lasts.

What I like is how it still surprises me
When you show up with them
Your way of saying
Yes
Let’s invest in the temporary

IX.
At some point, we stopped putting candles
On birthday cakes

But we still celebrate anniversaries
With the vim and vigor of newlyweds

X.
As quickly as the cracks appeared in the house’s foundation,
so too came Stage 4.

XI.
What is love
but dimming lights in the evening,
eyes growing heavy
falling asleep with my head in your lap

We all know that the price of being alive
is both everything and nothing.

XII.
“Will you let go in this room with me?”

“Yes, I’ll fetch the exhaust pipe.”

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