Michelle Brittan Rosado
Condition of Rental Property Checklist
The metal-framed windows keep sliding
down in the heat, so we prop them up
with painters’ sticks left behind
by the workers after the last tenants
moved away. It’s our first apartment and we’re going
to make this work, holding up every window
for any breeze, though mostly catching
the elderly neighbor’s midnight cigars
on the stoop below, the divorcée’s video game
soundtrack chiming down the courtyard. Hot air
and car exhaust swirl between us. Still, we buy flowers
though they wilt in a day, bananas darken
overnight, a string of ants threads the hole
in the window screen finding shade and sweet.
Author’s note: The poems in this series all use the image of a window as their starting point, some in the title itself and others more peripherally. I’ve been thinking of this symbol a lot lately — as a portal for wonder in childhood, an aperture to others’ lives during the pandemic, a view of the world outside after giving birth and spending those early days indoors. These poems may not have come into existence without the invitation to contribute to The Fresno 15, and I am endlessly grateful to the MFA program for my years there and the deep sense of community I’ve carried with me since graduating in 2011. Thank you for reading and for supporting the Larry Levis Memorial Scholarship.
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