Kate Bernadette Benedict
The rightness of it, the gladdening order! A sheen
of waxed wood to walk on, infinite books
to take out of, put back in, infinite niches and nooks.
There is a spice rack, there is a Shoji screen.
No other lives here. So placid. I glide unseen
from room to room, dressed or undressed, my looks
of no import. Here I am whole, here where green
grows the ficus and phones are off their hooks.
The phone is ringing, there’s a flood of clutter,
the plants are brown, the heat pipes clank and drone.
A darling husband leaves no towel unthrown.
where my soul in solitude may flutter
is fantasy. Still I fuel it, sniff its fragrance like cologne,
roll my tongue around its substance, richer than butter.
Kate Bernadette Benedict lives in New York City where she edits Umbrella
journal. Visit her website