lamplight calligraphy & the bay window 

our dorm room junior year was too tight 
but i wanted to look out 
that kind of window every day.
a bay window 
sticking out from the house. 
i had a dream my mom came to visit
& re-arranged me by room. 
she planted
ferns in the carpet 
& left my bed askew.
the room in the dream wasn't 
my real bed room.
it looked closest to that dorm room
with its white walls 
& it's glass cabinet 
in the corner full of books.
even outside my dreams i have this fear
someone going to come & un-make my space.
is this because i haven't lived 
more than a year in a room for so long?
i wish i took more pictures 
as if somehow
a picture saves a space. makes fixed
a certain location.
we kept the blinds closed 
most everyday day.
the light was 
too bold and clear.
but really we didn't like 
how easily a passing human could 
look into our terrarium.   
i liked to feel safe & small 
in our room. on a beautiful night 
i might sit in my bean bag chair & witness 
you opening the bottom drawer 
of your wooden desk--- 
removing your three 
calligraphy pens & writing letters
on thick perfect paper. 
ornate letters 
with tails & fins & lush eyebrows. 
i always wondered how you chose 
what words to write. first your name
& then the name of a city 
& then the name of a tree. 
all the while
the window blinds were down 
& the lamp was on; glowing on top of the dresser. 
our room was so miniature that
i could take a step
& touch your elbow-- could 
peer over your shoulder to see 
what you were writing--
follow each move of the brush.
i don't know what this has to do 
with my mom pulling books from shelves 
in a dream but i know only you knew
that room like i did & i know 
that you might never see the room
i live in know & sometimes 
i wish we would have opened
the blinds more-- not for the light
but so people might gather
& look in to see us. a diorama
of home. this is how girls
love each other. this is how
a brush moves across a paper.