Roof Charm
What is home if not exile to the familiar?
A serrated kiss at the closet door.
We duck our heads and cook meals undercover,
the sun’s rays deflected.
And every relentless day finds
our hands wanting.
The black shawl, unfolded.
Wax melted on the whetstone.
You say stars shiver despite their light.
You say one hand mirrors its mate’s arc.
I say warmth flows through you, the roof our sky.
“Roof Charm” made its first appearance here in June 2016.
O at the Edges 
This one’s a bit of a puzzle (very Okaji). I’m fascinated with home as exile to the familiar – written long before COVID dictated so many stay home to work, among familiars that did NOT fit with work roles, home becoming hodge-podge. Whole poem feels warm.
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The poem has taken on new meaning since COVID.
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Nice work.
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Thank you!
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