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The Apartment
by Peter Earsman

With her soft and quiet in the grave
the house was brittle and whispering
every book, every chair and every dish her smile
every room an echo
every day my aching, pacing the floor loss

Take the house, I told my kids, take it all
I don't want it.
I just want to be away from where she is plainly not
and plainly cannot be.
go to where I might find her
At least in my mind.
On common ground

So here I am,
in a small apartment with everything I need
around me.
My possessions gone to those with less
or to my kids who already have too much.
I have sufficient for my needs.

My poetry and that of better others,
a toothbrush for my teeth,
a hairbrush for my hair,
a suit for those
occasions that
our society
a shirt or

Copyright Peter Earsman 1968