It’s a bitty place where I live
though, little do I mind
always try to make ends meet
spending time for space to find
home already packed and crammed
drawers, closets, singles’ couch
hiding, piling pending hopes
casting out the clouds of doubt
I hang my clothing on the wall
panties, socks under the mattress
I sleep outside from Spring to Fall
acting as if nothing matters
the other day I couldn’t help
but have a dream one more time
a reverie before my step
that sounded Bach and smelled like lime
indulged myself on the door-way mat
to spend the night without a blanket
the new-born keeping safe and warm
at the inner pocket of my jacket.
