Seven Houses Deep

14 Nov

There’s a woman and her daughter on my street.

Two lives, one-room apartment

seven houses deep.

 

Just seven houses down

from the man who owns this town.

 

Behind peach curtains faded in the sun

the girl unfolds a snowflake

tapes it up beside the one

from yesterday

flat and crinkled on the freezer.

 

Crinkled too her mother’s face

with joy, although her cheeks have gotten narrow, thinner.

The mother knows this meager craft was meant to please her

and spoons out all she’s got to give:

an ersatz yellow mound of love upon a plate:

Kraft Dinner.

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