She's Home Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

She just arrived
11: 15 in the evening.
The hounds are dead,
The bones rattle
Underneath the ensconced places.

She barged in
Gracefully, such bedazzling eloquence
And the doormats,
The floors and the
Dust shrieked as
She entered her room.

“I’m home.”
To picture a cell
Inhabited by you
Sets me into such
A blaze that not even
Winter and its affinity
Could ever extinguish.
I am betrothed to your
Arson.

Again,
She reverberated
Like a rifle shot
From a mile away -
It billowed.
“I’m home.”
Such a wan spirit -
Free,
She reeked of independence
And I carried with me
The stench of infinite
Desolation.

Look,
She’s home.
But it’s as if,
No one’s
There.