Poem: Rental

Rental

Motes swirled in windows
like stars in The Starry Night.

Water stains framed
mirrors in bursts of gray-gold.

The landlord’s lips were thin,
her lipstick coral.

She braved the tropical storm
to unlock closets:
her Waterford crystal.

Branches needed pruning
but all I seemed to do

was dream of Heathcliff.
I never scrubbed

or mowed enough.
I leaned my bike—created tracks—
against the accent wall.

She said No.
No need to search

for my replacement.
She’d done living with my choices.

Feature Image: Daniele Idini