There is a corner of my apartment, thick in green
curtains, a green cake stand, and two plastic,
red-crowned cardinals that I stare at, often,
when I need to feel well-made in the world.
It is not a fancy corner, it is not the clean, tall ceilings
of the magazine covers, but I like most that it is mine.
I have hung the curtains, put those bowing birds on the
otherwise unused cake stand and made a nest of them.
We are given so much to lay on the table and sort through,
so many piles of anger and regret, and yet, in one
corner it is always spring. This is my honeysuckle and rose,
my berry bush and bloom and this is my habitat,
and this is my loosely woven home and this is my kingdom: