The Woman Within Her House

Around the doorway, you wander,
breathe in two languages.

Remembrance is a house
with two back yards.
You want to add windows.
Not for increase its value,
nor to make it pretty,
Just because you live there.

The wind swings the door open—
shadows float in the moonlight.
Someday you may get tired
and list the house for sale.

But somewhere else, behind the door,
whispers imitate your languages.

Nobody knows where you have been—
the rain is like a curtain,
your face veiled.