Cast Iron

[If i'm not mistaken, this is the seventh post in seven days]

the room has not been lived in long enough to bear the signature
there is no layer of miscellaneous dirty laundry
stretching from wall to wall, two feet deep

the streets have not been walked enough to become familiar
directions have to be written down
each corner still concealing their secrets

friends are still a few shared adventures short of comfort
jokes land flat
histories yet to be told

people say that cast iron skillets
soak in a little flavor from everything cooked in them
this may be new place, but soon it will have unique flavors
that make eggs and hash-browns delicious