It's pleasant to remember
the house you grew up in,
big as a childhood,
even if it was a small house,
even if it was an unpleasant
childhood, even if
it was an apartment or
just a room you had
to share--still, it is pleasant
to remember the windows,
those little pieces of sky
you could breathe through
just by looking out of them,
which you did as regularly
and unawares as breathing.
Even if there was unhappiness,
even if there was boredom
or pain on the inside, you can
remember those windows now
with pleasure. You can even
count them, go ahead: one
on that side of the bed, two
across from the door, that door
that opened inward from the inside,
the knob on the left, remember?