On North 3rd Street -
I'll leave it vague -
There's a big old Victorian
Teeming with women
Heavy with children,
Heavy with bookbags, debts, and groceries,
Heavy, but not so much as when they came;
The bruises are fading.
Her ribs are healing.
There are all of the usual
Jealousies and cycles:
A house of women is what it is.
But the locks work,
And the food is good,
And it no longer hurts so much,
The daily breathing.
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