I have waited for her to have her own room,
her own bed, her own chair and dresser,
a stand for independence holding her music,
a print that she loves on her wall,
perhaps an elephant.
her clothes will be strewn across the floor
because she left them there, intentionally.
I have my own room, he seldom ventures
here, uninvited, even if I do love him.
my stand for independence holds sonatas
by Bach and tangos by Piazzolla.
I leave my clothes strewn on the floor
because I can.
there is an empty space on my wall where an
elephant used to stare at me with her