Talking in Kitchens

Our friend Michael comes by and we sit at the table,
eating a curry from the Bombay Bicycle Club
and passing the baby between us.
When Michael has left we head upstairs
and the baby’s asleep and we’ve talked ourselves out
and we feel as we feel every day of the year
like nobody knows how we feel and it’s fine,
because our secrets live near the secrets of others,
and our wants are not so mean.
Easement comes in the weirdest of places
like that blue fire lit in the wood-burning stove
or the face on the dog when she chews at a carrot.
Here it is written down if I forget to say it -
my home is the temple made by your hands.

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