It Was A House Poem by Isamar Carrillo

It was a house; we made it a home. No curtains
To hide from the neighbors our petty sins. What,
The furniture is so simple:
A bed to make love, a table to draw,
A couch to lie on.
The glow of the lamps is warm in winter.
I stir the soup
And move my hips to whatever you're playing,
And you laugh at my bad jokes while
Sweeping the floor.
A vase full of flowers - those cheap pink ones -
makes the living room cozy, and the laundry
Awaits in its simple basket by the window
Until we have time to move on and let go.