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Sunday night alone
though everyone is home.
it doesn't go anywhere
this conversation at dinner
it hardly goes anywhere
these tired thoughts, hopes.

We dreamt of freedom.
but we never saw it here.
we dreamt of a certain childhood.
That was this neighborhood,
this house.
that was why we painted
in our dining room.
that was the reason for furniture.

And perhaps this house is too big.
This furniture too plenty
this neighborhood too close
to the big city.
because we spend Sunday night,
it seems every night,
when everyone is home.