I traveled nowhere where I could not be found.
I knocked on every neighbors' door, stole every pillow,
wiped away the ants on my kitchen table, leaned against
the hollow cold wall for hours, looked at the dirty curtains,
the stale jam, the rusty stove, the broken chimney,
the burnt lampshade, the faded map, the covered mirror,
the unmade bed, opened my arms to those never coming back,
listened to the licking water drops from the roof,
the crickets and the absent voices arguing
—a house grieving.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: remember