Your Love
Like when the fridge entered the American
kitchen, solid steel and brought to bear
by overwhelming need. When a thing
nearly coffin comes to dinner
forever and hums in the corner
whether someone hears or not, put
magnets on it. Fix to it a skin that speaks
of the life of the planet where
it’s landed and let it order the room
with its gravity. When I welcome a dolmen
into my home, do I give it the
seat of honor. When a cold and giant
gift has found its place, how
can I make room.