I found a way to bring the rug upstairs.
I roll it up, then tug its heavy body.
I’m rearranging the rooms we used to share.
To slide it across the floor would take me years,
so I stand it up and let it lean on me,
shuffling with it toward the basement stairs–
Oh heavy mate–and who will greet me there?
–to usher in the new reality
of rearranging the rooms we used to share.
You wore a jacket I’d never seen you wear,
moving your things out, keeping your back to me.
I lose my grip, starting up the stairs,
but I don’t fall. The rug slides down and flares
apart, away from me, deep burgundy.
I’m rearranging the rooms we used to share.
I don’t know why I can’t just leave it where
we stashed it away–for good, apparently.
I found a way to drag it back upstairs.
I’m rearranging the rooms we used to share.
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