438 Saint Paul St.

I have just enough water to digest hard, cold wind blowing into the kitchen from our back screen door. Missing flame from a pilot, fitted sheet curtains tacked to corners of my large window— saints have seen better days. I can still feel the boombox rattling on my garage sale desk to karaoke versions of Sorry 2004, the melted wax on my lamp light. I didn’t have a closed door until my first night of college. Was easier to drink a glass of water & block out the hallway breeze.