I live in a house which is painted light green
my mother and father live here as well
my father walks from room to room
and complains that our light green house is a mess
my mother stands with her hands on her hips
looks around and says one of these days
and of all the rooms in our light green home
mine is the worst
still a disaster even after I clean it
but I’m happiest there amid all the clutter
and when it comes time
I don’t want to die in some bright sterile place
where strangers will smile and won’t say to my face
what a mess I have made of myself and my life
I want to die with old beads in the carpet
dust an inch thick
and page after page of poems I have written
I want to go in my light green home
where I close my eyes
and say
one of these days.