I saw this plate of salted lemons and limes.
I want to live inside a lemon, a lime,
I told the housepainter. I could not afford those fancy glazes
to make the walls translucent. I should have known the result would be bold.
Frida Kahlo yellow in the living room, a chartreuse kitchen
where open cupboards spatter out blue plates.
Here comes the light. Never enough, better than before.
East to the Schuylkill, west to the Delaware.
River to river light: what you want in a row house.
And good, wood floors. Rosy on the first, golden oak upstairs.
That long day the guys rPped up ugly carpet, drilled
and hammered, drilled some more, finishing after twilight,
I sat teary on three-inch planks.
Who talks to their floors?