with your dusty-rose bathroom fixtures,
your warped parquet hardwood floors
(sloped perfectly for a baby and a very round ball placed just so),
and your must-have-been-for-milk-delivery cabinet outside the door.
I will miss you, sweet old apartment, for all the memories you hold.
Our first (and so far only) on-our-own Christmas.
So many summer nights sipping wine on the deck.
Cheering for the Canucks
with the rest of the neighbourhood
behind their equally thin walls.
Picnic dinner on the front lawn every night
during the hottest days of summer.
Those (thankfully few) sub-zero days
when the butter in cupboard
was as hard as the butter in the fridge.
Thirty hours of labour in the comfort of home
before it was clear
that what I'd planned was not to be.
Coming home too many nights without our baby,
until that oh-so-sweet day
when we three came home together.
I will not miss
your lousy, leaky, I-can't-believe-we-lived-with-it-so-long plumbing,
your moldy, mildewy, window sills,
your (probably lead-based) chipping paint,
and your paper-thin single-paned windows.
Goodbye dear apartment.
You have been just the right place at just the right time.
You have been home.
And I have been very very happy here.
I am glad we are not going far.
And I am looking forward to being able to operate
the coffee maker and the microwave simultaneously.
kb
I am glad we are not going far.
And I am looking forward to being able to operate
the coffee maker and the microwave simultaneously.
kb