Additional Credits:
Before the luggage rumbles through the door,
the room’s all shine and lemon space.
The fridge hums, empty, and the burners rest,
unsplattered. Light waits, fidgeting
on surfaces where, after sundown,
cards will slap and plates will clink
to lifeworn laughter. Vased and petaled stems,
now upright, will begin to slouch and douse
in conversation as the dark hours dawn, steeped
in revelations, recollections, and just maybe—
when the scrape of chair on tile dies down
and all that’s left are two low voices—
reconciliation.
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