it's mandalina

pull down the driveway, pick a spot to the right, usually the second from the end. walk up the big flight of stairs into the covered porch, the light should be on. unlock the kitchen door. standing in the doorway, the kitchen table in front of the window with the three chairs right in front of me, the big porcelain sink and counter behind it, the cabinets with their panel-less doors. to the left the new stove, fridge, more cabinets, with closed doors. lamp on the table, turn it on, the room glows. stand at the stove, the door to the right, the living room. the couch straight ahead in front of the big windows, the bookcase, the green recliner, the little coffee table, behind me, the butcher block island with the tv on it, the games inside. to the left the closet that runs the length of the room, a door on each side, one side full of my things. through the kitchen, the white paneled hallway. on the right, the bathroom, with the light switch ouside, the new mirrored cabinet, the open shelves next to the bathtub, my space pictures on the walls, cozy. then the bedroom, the door with it’s ancient carved handle, the little window with the sliding shutters on the left, knick knacks on the sill, the record player stand with the tv, the other window with the big curtains, the mattress on the floor, a bedside table on the left with the lamp, to the right of it the closet with the slotted door. the mirror on the wall. this was my place. i found, fought for, paid for, earned, this beautiful apartment. even when i ended up inhabiting it alone despite it’s previous intentions, i loved it, it was mine. it is the only thing i miss.