On Tuesday all the door knobs fell off and
the almanacs told us to make
French toast--

If I recall correctly it was a 
Tuesday when the house started to lose
door knobs-- wobbled like 
baby teeth or the wiggle legs 
of the green dining room chairs
that we used to put almanacs under--
If any of us had read the almanacs
we could have predicted this--
we would have seen that this
is the year of falling doors and 
elbows that unravel like cordial cherries--
We all woke up as warm together 
as a cinnamon bun skillet-- winter
broke us open in blood and syrup--
chocolate on our lips we crawled on hands 
and knees to see where the doorknobs 
had rolled away to-- 
We swore we heard  them laughing 
in the distance
like tiny screws and wind chimes--
or maybe they were taken
by the mice who hoard candy wrappers
and baby teeth in the
basement-- 
the first to go was the doorknob 
to my bed room and you
didn't know if you were allowed
to come inside anymore--
I said that the door was open--
It was always open now but
you didn't know how you were supposed to
get inside until the hinges also
receded and I had no more 
walls left-- only the glass
bookcase leaning in the corner 
where we displayed all of our Almanacs
and inside the back covers were lists
of all the years when we lost baby teeth--
Not many people know that the mice
are the tooth fairies-- only they
think of teeth like
gem stones-- harvested from
the colder side of a dream--  
pay our children in pennies and quarters
and dollar bills they save from
washing machine raids-- 
The doorknobs to kitchen left next
and we took to making french toast in the
hallway-- and the oven was in the living room
where we all melted cordial cherries
and broke open like red stem
and chocolate-- next we used the coffee
tables as stove-tops and forgot
what it was like
to have a bed room to sleep in--
we dressed night in chocolate-- tight
coils of dough and cinnamon-- you
asked if we needed icing and I 
remembered that the mice also stole
all the screws and the bolts-- you
would be surprised at how much is held together
using only our belief in gravity
and walls leaning into each other--
as we lean into each other
on wobbly green chairs in the living room--
I love you so much like
French toast and I never needed
a door knob to know it-- I don't
know where they went or if they will
be coming back but we never needed
them top open each other-- 
The last to disappear was the front door--
What is a house without a front door?
Were we only a kitchen in a hallway--
only a skillet mouth filled with French 
toast-- people breaking like
cordial cherries in the basement 
Where the mice re-purposed our
door knobs for their rituals-- 
wrote almanacs to leave in our glass
book case and under the legs
of the wobbling green chairs-- 
Yes, we all expected things to fall--
we always expect things to fall-- unravel 
But what we weren't expecting was how
the house fell so gently into itself--
how somehow we all wobbled and shook
but that we didn't fall-- picked up
baby teeth like crystals to put
back into each other's mouths--
we leave each other French toast
kisses and sleep in the doorways
so we know that the walls don't
leave us alone-- we never needed
a front door to open to make
a house of this oven-- as long
as there's still cherries there
will always be something to cover in
chocolate-- and next year when the
door knobs come back we might
forget what it was like to fall
apart into each other-- forget
about the mice in the basement
but it's okay because a part of loving is
forgetting and learn to remember
that the door knobs aren't
the only ways we can make
this house a skillet on a Tuesday--