hello from the new house

Hello from the new house. 

this is not the new house

Hello from the new house.
I put up a post-it with this address,
so I don't sound like a dork when I call the cable company.

We live here now. This is our place.
The unseasonably cold air last night carried campfire smell
and an owl's call.

I said, with an air of mystery, "I heard an owl's call last night,"
and my city friend said, "What kind of owl?"
I said, "What the fuck kind of question is that."

How long do I have to live here 
before I can distinguish between owls, 
based on the pitch and timbre of a velvety call?

More than one fucking day, I'd say.
Also, I only know three kinds of owls:
snowy, horned, and Hedwig.

Hello from the new view. 
The house across the street has three Subarus 
and a plum tree.

There are no growling buses.
There are owls.
(Owl breed tbd.)

Hello from the new bedtime.
The kids laugh maniacally
and empty the new closet.

Ryan and I look at the clock,
our mouths are matching lines.

When we both need help,
do we help ourselves or each other?
Everyone thinks there is a right answer.

Hello from the new commute.
To get to I-90 do I turn right or left?
I'm going right.

Most of the time when people think they're turning in a random direction,
they're turning in the direction of their dominant hand. 
(Things you learn reading novels.)

I should have turned left but see I'm right-handed.
But I found the market
and the library and a couple of rad barns.

Hello from the new kitchen.
I open seven drawers before I find the foil.
There are eight drawers. 

I keep turning on the right front burner
and waving my hand over oil in the cold pan
on the left front burner.

We're back to electric
so that kind of mistake creeps up on us
while the dinner doesn't cook.

Hello from the new yard.
The boys are on the deck stacking emptied boxes
and B is wearing a cracked colander on his head.

Rats in the city gross me out
but mice in the country are fine
as long as I never, never see them.

The old owner's cat sleeps on the deck.
She meows urgently, slaps the glass with her white-mittened paw.
"What the fuck," she seems to say.

What the fuck, indeed, cat.
What the fuck

Hello from the new mailbox.
Oh wait, there isn't one.
We will fetch our mail from the post office.

I imagine Mr. McFeely works there.
You remember him - speedy delivery!
What a nice man, that Mr. McFeely.

Too bad about that name though.
Makes me want to cross my arms
and legs.

Hello from the dining room.
As I unpacked napkin rings I wondered
when that happened in my life.

I also have four or five vases
which isn't something to brag about
but was, at some point, a choice I made.

Chicken spends his pocket money on sour patch kids
and bouncy balls (putting the quarters in the machine is half the thrill)
and I have vases and when did that happen?

"When did that happen"
might be my new personal mantra
along with "what the fuck indeed, cat."

the fuck

PS hello from Greg our new snail.
He's alright.



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