It's hard to turn a house into a home when you're alone.
There's no shared memories
Stacked haphazzardly in corners,
Nothing to soften the sharp echos of
Bare foot slap on hard tiles
I make my dinner at my kitchen counter,
Alone
Cut small tomatoes into plastic bowl
Add in
Olive oil and garlic,
Then pasta and toss with
Pepper and cheese
I light the shabbat candles for the first time in my new apartment
But the light here isn't golden and warm
There's a blue cast to it that
Haifa's lights outside my dark window mirror- cold diamonds tossed across a
Black, velvet valley that swallows light
And there's none of the mess from our shared life here
These walls seem extra bare, and that and the high ceilings sharply contrast with the
Warm, jewel-tone painted walls of our New York City apartment.
Carrie
I'm so afraid that in the move, I might have
Left your ghost behind.
I imagine you
Sitting alone in our disheveled nest
Amidst too many books and too much unopened mail crowding every surface.
Google tells me that that mess is 5731 miles away,
But that's probably from JFK to Ben Gurion
And after all
The Upper East Side isn't Queens
And Haifa isn't Lod
So it's probably even further when you consider
I wonder if maybe you might still find me in the placelessness of dreams–
(I wish you would)
And when you do, will you
Please hold onto the back of my skirt's waistband
The way you used to
(Teasingly, I thought)
when you didn't want me to leave the house
You see,
I know myself
How easily I can be
Hypnotised by those
Cold, Blue lights
And how, forgetting my step
Fall headlong
Into that
Bottomless, black velvet valley that swallows light.
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