in my dreams, it’s still longing

she’s still upstairs and I'm calling

on the landline but she doesn’t pick up

the map of her house is blue, she sleeps

in someone else’s bedroom somehow

but she lives alone, across the street

from my childhood home, we’re here

where I sleep, in a windowless room,

the lights are on and we’re on the floor

her mouth so close to mine, so close

until she gets up on her knees,

much taller than me, well over six feet

it’s him, instead, smiling back

at me — revolting — even in blue

and yellow, my favorite flannel, I

would wrap myself in the aftermath

he’s still wearing jeans, blue,

when I tell him to leave and he does

I’m alone, then, asking my mom

not to take me somewhere

surrounded by all her drunk friends

blondes and brunettes, I don’t recognize

which one she is by her hair

this weekend, next summer,

in a Toyota minivan, leaning on

my elbow, the marble kitchen counters

after the renovation, it’s all wrong,

we haven’t been there since I was five,

I think, in the minivan, it was blue

I wake up beside the room

with the blue-comforter-bed