If you are not moving, its because you need not to

And next door, a woman and her son are sorting out a house,
I think, but hope its not because everything got too impossible
for the woman that lived there
because I might have offered to help.

Slicing artichokes, I remember windows, ceilings, flatmates,
and wish I had photos of room views,
what each of the people looked like when waking,
how my stuff converged and in one looked like Bisto
in another toffee apples in another dog biscuits.

I nest brutally, burrow into walls with pins,
curate postcards and fridge magnets
feeling the cold fact of consequence,
understanding stillness, for a bit.