I stood up to clear dishes and there it was:
noticed the eleventh time,
a ragged little hole in the wall, low
and a passing acquaintance of
the front door handle,
and recent host to a nail and fragmentary string –
already a memory –
our hole, our door,
my memory.
I live here now.
Lainey, I love the way this resonates with my own wall, my own door, several...