to call some place home
and find a space in which our
portraits can
paint the walls and we
can be looked upon as
worthy—even if the haven wrapping
us in warmth
is only the burn of a soup bowl
against our too eager fingertips.
And when we unlock
the stubborn door of 308B
we soon forget to notice
the stained carpet
or the shouting down the hall,
even if it’s something past exhaustion
when the light slants
through dirty blinds
before we can even fall asleep.
But we forget to notice our
own undoing
and clench onto the hope that
we are, all of us, looking
to the day
when the week
doesn’t end after forty hours, and our
dreams aren’t tumbling around the inside
of a dollar-fifty washing machine.
And we watch the hair spiral
around in the tub
that refuses to drain and
wonder
if someone, if anyone even,
would dare to hold us if they knew
just how long we’ve waited
to be looked upon
and thought of as worthy
to be looked upon.
McKenna Themm earned her Bachelor of Arts in Literature and Writing and is currently pursuing her Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. She works as a freelance writer and lives in San Diego, California.
JMWW 