I am moving
into a numinous house
with three floors
and light blowing in
from three directions
and maybe I can breathe again.
Packed tight in our old apartment,
sharing bathrooms and closets and unable
to run from the noise, unable to turn
on the lights without waking
each other, tripping
over the shoes by the door,
dancing around each other
in the strip of a kitchen, we were full
of things and playing Tetris on shelves crowding
the walls, spilling shadows into crannies.
And we did too much
or too little and held on too tight
because love overflowed
like a river of honey
turning to amber in close quarters,
a heart of stone.
So maybe the knots
will slowly unravel
while we walk through
open rooms, and maybe
we can untangle
the snarls between us
when we have doors
that close to each other.
Or maybe we will build
our own worlds now,
little islands drifting apart,
tides rising, horizon
leading the eye far away.
Is that what my soul wants? Space
to grow, room to move. And love
in a breeze, laughter,
warm soup, a squeezed shoulder, words
exchanged in a range of tones.
Doors opening and closing, two pairs
of hands sharing the work.
Love to land lightly, butterfly-kiss
on a palm opening up
to the sun.
Yes, I answer. Yes, please.
Christine Fojas is a Filipino-Canadian hailing from Las Piñas City and currently living in Metro Vancouver. She has a BA in Comparative Literature from University of the Philippines and works as a library technician at Douglas College. A list of her publications can be found at her website. She is also on Twitter as @chrisfojas. She is a regular contributor for Marias at Sampaguitas.
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