On House Hunters, the Buyers Insist They’ll Need Space for Entertaining

Abbie Kiefer
| poetry

 

We hunted houses
+++++for cracks. Cellars for damp. Figured the age of roofs and how long
they might hold.
+++++Can you picture your lives here the agent asked & did we
nod? Still
+++++in the center of empty spaces. Pretending to render
our eventual selves.
+++++Our house’s first owner: the agent’s ex. She never knew him
to be reasonable
+++++but he took what we offered. Sold us seven rooms on two floors
on two wooded
+++++acres—the spaces where we entertain
ourselves:
+++++link Legos, grow lettuce. We deal cards, fan them
full.
+++++For birthdays, lemon cake, uncandled—no bright thing
needlessly extinguished.
+++++Last day of December, paper horns’ buoyant blare. We kiss well
before midnight.
+++++Let the new year bring itself in.

Abbie Kiefer is a poet from New Hampshire. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in Boulevard, The Cincinnati Review, The Common, Ninth Letter, Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, Shenandoah, The Southern Review, and elsewhere. She has twice been a semifinalist for the 92Y Discovery Prize and is on the staff of The Adroit Journal.

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