Let us dance,
With five o’clock shadow socks,
On the cat puke stains,
The faded spaghetti sauce,
The unnamed accidents,
Forming an island chain,
Of memory,
On the carpet.
Take a seat,
Have a drink,
Sip from our mismatched,
And chipped drinkware,
While you sink into our tired sofa,
The floral print cushion collapsing,
Under the accumulated weight,
Of generations — the familiar and the foreign —
Who sat there before.
Let us laugh,
And for the moment,
I’ll forget about the dust,
Layered like soil on top of the ceiling fan,
Or the spackled holes on the bathroom wall,
I have yet to sand and paint.
Let us,
Be here,
In this house,
As we are —
Threadbare,
Patched,
Tilting slightly,
But still upright.
Let us clink,
My mug,
To your glass,
And think fondly,
Of the red wine that spills,
Onto the carpet.
