we use
to have a large clunky
fan
set on the floor
of our
unairconditioned house
in the bedroom.
it sang
us to sleep,
the whir of the blades,
the
clanging of
metal against metal
with each new
swing.
we set a bucket
of ice
in front of it, which
melted by morning.
but the fan was
a luxury item
in the little flat roofed
duplex
near the border of D.C. .
we lay upon the sheets,
with the windows
wide open,
without a breeze.
we felt lucky.
we dreamed.
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