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For lack of a better title, let's call this "Boo, I Have to Work."

.

If my living room were a compass

you’d find a 40-degree sweep

of books on the southern wall,

a 30-degree span of couch (east)

that, despite being trained on a

a 10-degree patch of Netflix (west),

is more often used for phone calls,

poems, and every kind of page.

The couch is backlit with

feeder birds, and warmed

on the north by 2 degrees

of cast iron, within which pumps

the house’s 500-degree heart.

.

In all directions, art as I know it:

mountains collapsed into my

phone, then blown back up

and framed. Curios, prints, and

an original the size of a cereal box

that cost two years’ worth of

Grape-Nuts. A few of my own

originals, too, scratched

at the small table in the center

of the rose.

.

It’s a lively room, but the needle

is stubborn, pointing so often

to the northeast corner. Here is

where I sit in front of the 1-degree

money screen. I am flanked by

plants and held by a window,

for which I’m grateful. But here,

for hours each day, my back is to

the rest of me.

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The metaphor of living-room-as-compass is deliciously clever, and the landing stanza about the what-is-ness of having to turn your back on yourself and inhabit such a small slice of this glorious room is profound. I also love "an original the size of a cereal box/that cost two years' worth of Grape-Nuts" and "mountains collapsed into my phone/then blown back up and framed" (technology is incredible, truly).

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What a fun and delightful poem, Rebekah. This is a vivid and artful description of a special and eclectic space. I love the ending: "But here, for hours each day, my back is to the rest of me." You nailed the landing for sure! And, one day, share some fo those originals with us--I'd love to see them!

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Nicely done. You painted a perfect picture of your space with your words. And the use of compass as metaphor was brilliant!

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