Today I sign the lease
on my first house.
It’s the biggest place I’ve lived
since I was a kid.
My sister is in Maine
and offers to drive down
to help paint.
I spend the day before
pulling nails out of the walls.
Sixty years of them. Very soon I realize
this space hasn’t breathed right
in half a century. And each nail
begins to feel like a lace
on a corset.
I pile them on a counter
in the kitchen, next to the scraps
I saved of the drawing I made
once for my dad. I put them there
so the house can see.
They stay there four days.
My sister says she did the same
where she and Christine live
Just made her feel better.
I know this place does not trust me
yet. And when the living room light
while I prepare to leave,
we are separate beings
to each other
through the dark.