THE NEW PLACE

for TH

The new place is still an unpacked pile
of boxes, crockery lying in wait
wrapped in newspaper, a brown file
of tenancy agreements and contracts
that are signed and dated. The white
walls are uncluttered by jam-sticky hands
or crayons that count the kids' heights
in months, January — March — December.
The year opens like a front door
to a garden of blossoming flowers,
the roses uncurling like cats,
blown dandelion clocks exploding the air,
filling the bedrooms with fairies.
Nell, bouncing on bedsprings, captures a wish.