Each room in our house,
is her expression in fact
In shape, in color, in texture,
her art, laid out for all to drink

Take the laundry, sewing room,
where she cuts and sews and fashions
curtains, clothes, and more
each inch is her design, her choice

The windows look upon
her gardens, her flowers, her shrubs, her trees
but wait! That’s another book! Back, I say, inside,
Through the door and into the bedroom
ours for forty years

The bed, the spread, the pillow cases,
the floors, the walls, the ceiling,
are her, expressed in
shape, in color, texture

The bath? Of course we share it
maybe 90/10, but that’s okay!
I’m a farmer, don’t you know,
my world is ‘outcomes based’
and what comes out, is finely treasured

I’ll skip the other bedrooms
suffice to say they’re hers
to move on down the stairs

Kitchen? The pine wood floor
the cabinet doors, the sink, the fridge
each knife, each spoon, each cup
knows her hands upon them