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Poem from:

Our Sudden Museum by Robert Fanning

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The House We Almost Bought

Fanning, Robert


Passing the house we almost bought 
I look through its windows at the man 
I almost was, with his wife who’s almost 
glad. The children who were almost ours 
are almost asleep in rooms they almost had. 
The walls are the light of almost day. 
I almost stop to say hello. But most days 
when I pass the people we almost were, 
they’re quiet as songs almost composed. 
I almost don’t want to interrupt 
where they’re almost going. 
The man I almost was pauses at the window 
almost shattered by the sun, as if to almost pray. 
I almost wonder if he sees me pass, then wonder 
what he is about to almost say, as if I’m someone 
he almost knows, or could almost be, 
which is almost true. He almost is. 

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