438 Saint Paul St.

I have just enough water
to digest hard, cold wind
blowing into the kitchen
from our back screen door.

Missing flame from a pilot,
fitted sheet curtains tacked
to corners of my large window—
saints have seen better days.

I can still feel the boombox
rattling on my garage sale desk
to karaoke versions of Sorry 2004,
the melted wax on my lamp light.

I …