Feminine Imprint

June, 2004

My first apartment out of college was a
Plywood shanty that I shared with four
Former frat brothers. The sickly shades
Were always drawn. You and I stepped like cats
Over the backpacks and six packs and magazines,
In the semi-dark eyelid-flap of the noisy TV.
You used to hold your breath as you crept
By the passed-out partygoers, sprawled out
On that sleeper sofa we had found abandoned.
We.d lie entangled on my borrowed twin bed,
A myopic light bulb staining the ceiling, and
Stare at the Dali print thumbtacked to the wall.
You dreamed of the plants, the lamps, and
The scented candles that would inhabit
Our first shared home. I dreamed of a really big TV.

I went to the home goods store today and
Bought new curtains. I got
Enough for both dingy cubby-holes in my
Born-again bachelor crash pad.
They were expensive, and the frat boys
Question my manhood, but I
Guess I just grew a taste for them after
Living with you. They soften the edges,
Wrapping the room like a halo blanket.
Once the windows were raw sores, and now
A gentle breeze brings you dancing before my eyes.
The slope of the gauzy linen brings your
Hips back to my hands, and your presence back
Into the room. The curtains cast your absence
In a gentler, much more bearable light.
I used to be a your junky sleeper sofa,
Lumpy and cumbersome, impossible to move.
But look again at how I.m changed
By your gently superior taste and manner.