1725 [somewhere nowhere]

This is for you. It is from somewhere some people call nowhere but I do not call it that. A breeze lifts the curtain, and I water the dying plants and sweep the litter that was left, and I dust. I have never dusted. I am glad for these reminders, your remainders, pieces of broken glass, a tiny gold anchor, stickers on a door. You Are Beautiful. A mixed tape sticker and a mixed tape. The Yankees score a run and the cheer echoes in the room, down the hall, in the empty closets, off the coffee table from which I lift a bottle of rum from Barbados and pour a knuckle and sip, and a sip of cold seltzer, too, and fuck Boston and fuck Boston and fuck Boston and fuck Boston and fuck Boston and fuck Boston and fuck Boston and fuck Boston.