Separate Houses

Separate Houses
Sarah Lucier

Separate houses is not such a death,
running to your doorway only to be locked out,
in the cold,
where a doorway is more
than wood and less
than a dream.


I call to my longings
In the night.

Our marriage is a sidewalk.
Your mirage is a wall
And mine is less than a gate.

“It’s not so bad,” she says,
“Wasn’t it you who never did
answer with more than

‘We’ll see,
We will see,’

When I
With desperate breath would say
‘Marry me. marry me, marry me, marry’”

I was lost in my kitchen,
pining for your bathroom
with the only hot water
on the block,
crawling on the bedroom floorboards,
wondering why I was not living,
at Home.

Is this yours, or mine,
Or is it all lost in ours.

Let’s not confuse things,
We depend on ourselves…

Diego, have you seen my keys?

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