first digs

it's 4 flights

up

to her apartment with

windows

overlooking

the Exxon station and a small

graveyard

for cats and dogs.

she's carrying box

after

box

after box of life,

books from college,

magazines

from Vanity 
Faire to Vogue.

her clothing is over

her shoulders

and under

her arms.

for pizza, her friends

are coming

over to paint

the walls.

they're bringing beer

and

music.

wine coolers and a blender

for something

hard.

the mattress is on the floor.

a few stuffed

animals

are strewn about,

brought from home

which seems so long ago

and far.

the wobbly

table

is in the corner,

holding a bowl of Cheez its.

her mother's lamp

is in the middle of the room

attached to a long

extension cord.

it's a start.

who hasn't been there

before.