I’ve walked miles through rooms
in other people’s houses,
places I remember the smell of when
I light certain candles, I see
midday desert sunlight enveloping
lemon trees and parked cars, settling
into dated kitchens full of food and
well-meaning people—
we were there and
we were going places—
we had hope on tap, living
room,
high ceilings
for everything we could carry.
But I never
before now
had words touch me so gently.
I’ve never been touched so gently.
Have I always been this
delicate?
melissa suarez
melissa 