Poem for the incomparable Kady Mae -- belated, for her birthday, to her prompt:: "the wrong window"
The Wrong Window
I talked with some homeless guys
about decor.
We sat, quietly, systematically imagining
a range of possible plans:
an apartment painted blue,
or green, or white.
A trailer with wood-paneled walls,
a house with stone and skylights.
We let in an ocean breeze,
then sheltered it in a cave.
We put it on a truck, to move around.
We found a nice place, to set it down.
We tried lace and chintz,
metal and gleam, wagon wheel tables
and cowboy boot lamps.
We built it in the woods,
in the city, with neighbors,
or without.
We made it inviting.
We made it hidden and alone.
We sampled tints and tones,
materials and schemes,
until each one of us knew
the specifications of desire:
a refuge or an ark,
a place of silence or music,
a place of risk or ease.
We considered what makes a thing real.
How much chutzpah goes into manifesting,
and how much it was worth it to dare.
We dared to want.
We dared to prefer one thing
over another. We dared to subvert
expectation, history, diagnosis.
We paid the coin of attention to ransom,
whisper by whisper, and breath by breath,
our own and each other's dreams.
We climbed back out the wrong window,
and walked in through the opening door.
We fanficced the world. We were authors.
We AU'd that bitch.
We pwned it.
I talked with some homeless guys
about decor.
We sat, quietly, systematically imagining
a range of possible plans:
an apartment painted blue,
or green, or white.
A trailer with wood-paneled walls,
a house with stone and skylights.
We let in an ocean breeze,
then sheltered it in a cave.
We put it on a truck, to move around.
We found a nice place, to set it down.
We tried lace and chintz,
metal and gleam, wagon wheel tables
and cowboy boot lamps.
We built it in the woods,
in the city, with neighbors,
or without.
We made it inviting.
We made it hidden and alone.
We sampled tints and tones,
materials and schemes,
until each one of us knew
the specifications of desire:
a refuge or an ark,
a place of silence or music,
a place of risk or ease.
We considered what makes a thing real.
How much chutzpah goes into manifesting,
and how much it was worth it to dare.
We dared to want.
We dared to prefer one thing
over another. We dared to subvert
expectation, history, diagnosis.
We paid the coin of attention to ransom,
whisper by whisper, and breath by breath,
our own and each other's dreams.
We climbed back out the wrong window,
and walked in through the opening door.
We fanficced the world. We were authors.
We AU'd that bitch.
We pwned it.