Aaron Dailey



Little Japanese writing desk
You look so much better
In your new place
Then you ever did in mine.
Bathed in sunlight
With your small red-potted plant.
Being touched regularly
And dusted often.
You must be happier
Not bearing
The weight of my elbows.
Surrounded by lovely things,
The nearby red cabinet
Happy with butterflies.
You’re done with
The days of tedium
On the brown dusty carpet
Piled with books and boxes.
The occasional rifling of your drawers
For some bit of minutiae
Almost lost;
A nail clipper,
A ball point pen.
Surrounded by those lonely shelves
Full of video cassettes.
“A dead medium!”
The shelves protest.
“Some say that about the book.”
You say defensively.
“He hasn’t read a book in months,” replies the shelf.
No, it’s better where you are.
In the little casita.
Surrounded by air and light and trees.
The lively clack of computer keys
Drifting in from the kitchen.
A warm cup of tea in the evening
And watching legs disappear
Up the ladder into the loft.
The soft click of the light switch
and the hum of the refrigerator.
In the morning that beaming face
From the loft
And that look that says,
“I love you little house!”
And you knowing
You’re part of that.


by Aaron Dailey

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