i pull apart the pack-n-play–
one of my closest friend’s baby
will sleep here again tonight

it still fits him
(my girls are way outgrown)
and it still fits
in this ten by ten room

the room carpeted green
painted (nine months pregnant) white
that we built with sweat and tears
eleven years in the making

the room in our basement
now stacked with our lives–
books we cannot part from,
handmade quilts, knick-knacks,
art from my mother’s
most delicate brush and pencil,
all our family photos

he will sleep here tonight
(he still fits)
all our closets and walls are empty
(they all fit)

and i just wonder
as i see our life
in perfectly neat stacks–
how can we fit anywhere else?