CANDICE M. KELSEY

This Tender Dwelling

An open floor plan—
two-story heart of upper
& lower chambers
an arrhythmic aesthetic
of curb appeal nestled
in the neighborhood of me.

Living is an attempt
at hospitality until the vinyl
siding peels from years
of wear & tear. Funny phrase

for fifty-two years of feet
crossing a threshold:

muddy ones
loud ones
reckless loves
careless ones
spilling extra-
large secrets
wear & tear
like iced drinks

on the new carpet white
the silly hope that perhaps
doting on exterior things
preparing the soil
planting seeds in full sun
could bring any worth
to this square footage of self.

Do you love yourself?
Clean your furnace filter
vacuum the vents
test smoke alarms?
Or have you
taken a sledgehammer
to the walls let
an eating disorder damage
the pipes?

Gratitude for small things—
the mesh tube
stenting an arterial wall like
a sage stick smudging
sacred space
opening the iambic path
for green fists that beat toward
a humble & silky life.

Were you built to be entered
& exited? Can you excite
love when pipes freeze
expand & crack?

What’s the deductible for heartbreak?

I’ve always imagined a sincere
welcoming could transcend
human nature: our need
to destroy tender offerings

could be righted by peonies.

Fine Mary Oliver, I will
unroll the Welcome mat
offer entrance
enjoy the morning garden dew
with you, or
whoever else knocks.