What it would be like

My house is three stories high. Upstairs is my
sister’s room, downstairs is the laundry, the
computer, and my brother’s loud rap music. I
am in the middle. So is the living room ,the
bathroom and the kitchen. As well as my
parents’ room. What it would be like to live in
a tent outside with no up and down, up and
down stairs. With curtains hanging instead of
doors and walls and velvety brown dust carpet
for my toes. What it would be like to look up
at night through the holes in the ceiling to
spy on celestial dancers making their slow
procession across the sky. Tasting the air
fresh as if of the First Breath exhaled. I
would hold it in, let it make love to my lungs
and sleep with its sublime effect in my
dream. If I did not have to tread down thirteen
stairs to the laundry and thirteen back up as
well, up seventeen to get the phone in the
morning (and trip down the same because of
her crap “stuff”), if only I were the only one
knowing when I cry to sleep, stop eating or
menstruate, I might find some peace. What it
would be like to live on the ground and not
feet above it. Well, I know I would love it.