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Domestic Study

The house is a curator
of questions, it contains closets

full of board games
In attic-light, in door-light

she unfolds his notes, opens all
the clothing he folded

She empties the cupboards
of dishes she fills

the cupboards with dust
In bed she is a sentence

he mispronounces
In bed she pulls an orchestra

out of his mouth
then a pill box full of recipes

For last night’s headache, rest
a magnet on the temple

or sip from a bottle of
maple syrup

At midnight she builds a room
of spoons she plants a field

of dishes and salt water
To soothe a toothache

place a whole clove between
the jaw and the cheek

Milk for a minor burn
In spoon-light, in button-light

a pear turns soft
in its bag

a snow globe unlocks from
its wooden foot

some glitter goes missing
the carpets sparkle for a hundred years