geometric rooms

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i could see you, little person, in your little house
(those burgundy walls might be mine someday)
talking with all the other little people
who you love enough to watch
tv with on a sunday night
and pour a coffee for
on monday morning
and to hear them
talk in their sleep
(through shut doors or
only the layer of clothes or
no clothes between you)
talk in their sleep
and cry sometimes

your feet were up on the arm of
your couch
(i couldn’t see your face)
and you had socks on that
your grandma might have
gotten for you
the arm of a couch through a
sharp cornered window in a
geometric room, like a honey
comb in a hive
(frequented by the worker bees)

there were other little people
in the photographs on your wall
which the chandelier
it looked expensive
(the chandelier and the frames
and the way the freshly cleaned
glass panes glistened)
and i thought about how that
chandelier light would look bouncing
off of my own burgundy walls someday
licked by steam from
the coffee that i bought
and i poured
for my people
or person on a monday morning

there would be people in my
photographs that looked like
the people in yours
(the young people smiling
the old people stately
the family’s been traveling
everywhere lately
i’ll say with a smile though
i do miss them so but i
have been traveling too)

and i can’t quite see
to the back of the den
but i’m sure you’ve got
bookshelves packed to the brim
run a finger across, wait and say when
second hand classics, again and again
like you read in school
when things only reached as far as the foot of your bed
and you had no need to think about
the chandelier you might someday own
(when the wrinkles from a million seconds
spent laughing start to show)
no need to consider
the smell of freshly painted burgundy walls
or picture frames

i hope you have a nice
rest of your life in that little house
or another little house
(but they’re all the same
coated in a fine layer of fingerprints
and sweat and hushed whispers
dinners and arguments and glances)
and i guess it’s funny because
if you hadn’t had your living room
light on at dawn i wouldn’t have
ever known you existed

i’m sorry for
spying on you

—  Burgundy Walls, Savannah Brown