So we remodeled my in-laws’ house, rather their bedroom,

which is as grand a place as a whole home.

It is the first sight upon opening eyes

& the last before sleeping.

 

It is so grand

(& even though I am FORBID to post any pictures before the big reveal

via IKEA & their publications)

you can trust.

 

And we were so pooped

that

my girl

conched-out

on our bike ride home.

 

I pulled-up, parked, & looked behind.

Her mouth open,

not kidding like sometimes when she

wants to be carried-in,

cutely with a small amount of deception.

She was OUT.

 

 

Redoing takes work,

even if you are just

hanging around, jumping on beds.

 

Upon coming to, she said,

“I want my room looking more pretty, too”.

Not jealous, just highly inspired,

“Let’s make it more pretty, yes?”

 

So I am looking for the hammer,

still, taking inventory

of every frame,

hanging plates on walls,

& getting ready to switch curtains,

hang out futons,

weed out the too small things

the hanging-up of clothes,

the spaghetti/netflix binging,

the polishing of silver,

“what the heck will i cook for dinner” & when will i return that year-old library book?

 

i’m home

in the thick of it–

doing the little things

the heavy things

with nails.

 

It feels like throwing flames

& scrubbing dishes

with five-day-old nails,

thinking only last night

did we sip some bubbly.

 

come in, glamour, come in clean,

come in swaths of curtains blowing in open-window breeze

come in recipes with potatoes

cream, dill, and shallots

come in brilliance,

inspiration, & the energy to set sparks to flint,

soup to table,

hearth to city,

 

beauty beauty

come in.