My son has a complicated relationship with the woman who shares his (2 bedroom) apartment. He never knows what she wants.
The following is poetry for thought.
Rent
If you want my apartment, sleep in it
but let’s have a clear understanding:
the books are still free agents.
If the rocking chair’s arms surround you
they can also let you go,
they can shape the air like a body.
I don’t want your rent, I want
a radiance of attention
like the candle’s flame when we eat.
I mean a kind of awe
attending the spaces between us—
Not a roof but a field of stars.
Jane Cooper
