Borrowed Home
by Timothy Reed
a hundred hazel diamonds
stare at me, questioning
my place in this home
and, truthfully, I can’t reply
except to tell them
your place in it.
We had found you one day
in a behemoth supermarket
with an American facade --
its existence an ode to
a “which one doesn’t belong” game.
Even so, you weren’t our
original choice, the best choice.
“It will do,” we both said
as we purchased two.
It seems that’s our favorite phrase
nowadays.
We tucked you in tightly
around the curves of
a borrowed couch
in a borrowed home
in a borrowed city
in a borrowed country —
thank God for you, though.
Even so, with so many eyes
you must know the truth —
there is no feint at permanence.
I love how, in Portuguese
(the language we’re learning here),
there’s no difference between
the words borrow and lend
and how you seem to understand that.
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