Syracuse Parallel

by Danica Colic

Is this our address?
Is this our dog called Roscoe?
Do I hang blue curtains,
and do you hold the ladder? Is it because
the floor is warped in places and this
is a future of gentleness,
the house a cradle?
Does the kitchen water
sound like rainfall
from the bedroom?
Do we have extra blankets,
and is the dog allowed
in the bed? Was this the rug
I knotted from scrap
in the life where I made such things?
In the winter, will the radiator
wake us with its hissing?

But first, are we very proud?
Do you touch my waist
in the window?
Are the leaves turning already?
Is the light thick as syrup
and am I lovely in it?
If we reason we are wise
because we live in a wise container,
and it is this which brings
hand to waist, are we then wise?
Is this our long hallway,
a peal of laughter hushed
in its chamber?
Is this our address?
Are we wise
in other futures?