“Grandparents' house”; coffee table buried
at the ankles in an olive floral rug; picture it, sediment blanketed on a 68" by 95"
faded hedge-y growth, wild blossoms
hugging the carpet's skin like the curb
does white picket fences, imagine; fraying tassels feeling their way between carpet hand prints, pushing all edges deeper into the room, weaving, thistly limbs into
cream white terry loops, splitting ends
to tie to every corner of the flag, imagine that it will stretch, imagine that it has
already, these cross-stitched blooms
were once seeds, and are soon to be
grown, sepals flared and sigmas exposed.

My family has done it. The American dream is clenched between my toes.