Coronavirus poem 7: Always Another House


In the house, there was another house
and then another —
one made from a box used
to deliver her grandmother’s microwave,
the second to ship her
father’s poetry books, and a third 
only she could see.
There was a little bed
where the little seal and little cat
took long restorative naps
and teacups that never failed
to fulfill their promise.
You see
the world where
she lived once?
Where she
lives now?
My phone slumps
in front of me
like an exhausted