In this house

everything is new.

Nowhere do I see

remnants of the past.


The bookshelf

that once held legal dramas

and murder mysteries,

now holds only

love poems.


And that stove,

that brewed witches’ stews

of boiled stink-eyes

and simmering regrets,

now, with its instant gas heat,

cooks meals of choice manna.


Where once I dwelled

among pottery and rugs

passed down from ancestors,

now I am cloaked

in your luminous blanket.


Where once I lived

with hostile roomies,

now I am greeted each day

with a warm bear-hug

and laughter

over tea in the kitchen.


I did not run from that old place.

Instead, through your love

I was simply transported

into a pure and perfect now,

a cozy home

on a mountaintop,

from where

I watch

the neighborhood

parade below.

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