The Lady in the Purple House

Take a deep breath 

And sing loud into a box fan

She becomes everything around you

Music steeped behind lips now piping from the window

Standing on the edge of her tongue

You don’t notice her teeth

Walls that wail when they give

Rugs and bodily fluids

Living savored like lemonade on Juneteenth 

Wine on her breath

Vinyl table liners with black-eyed Susans and oblong gourds 

Steps are multi-purpose choir stands

Postcards and letters that begin with Dear John

They meet in the shadows 

Kissing under the eaves of the first purple house called home