by Cyndi Yuska

We moved the couch this weekend
Carried it to the doorway, prodding it in
Past the small black-framed portals
Into my new life.

We feared at once it wouldn't fit
As our hands pulled at the legs
Arms pushing full strength the other end.
Then the moment came, a light glowed above our heads
As we glanced sheepishly at one another
And muted flowers
Cream over hunter forest stripes
And bands of crimsom
Burst through into a sea of thick viridian carpet.
Laughing, we tumbled over the arms of the couch
And fell into each others' arms.

I cleaned the cabinets later
While you assembled a table and some chairs.
Though our noses almost touch
When you stand in the dinette
And I am in the dollhouse kitchen
The rooms seem bigger now that we're both here.

A small down throw, just enough
To cover our two pairs of shoulders
Keeps us warm while the heater
(Waiting in the dark most days
While its new owners are away)
Kicks in and kicks out some warm air
Popping bang bang bang like a short circuit
(Duck and cover, it might blow)
We hide under a blanket that just covers our eyes
But as we warm our hands together
We feel like we're covered
By the quilt of a king.

A single couch inhabits our home now.
But as we glance back through
Those black-framed windows
While we're locking up our door
We see our couch, and sitting on it,
Our new life.