I woke It up.
It was resting and waiting,
Empty for so long.
I opened it up,
Gave It some air.
Thinking I was alone,
I caressed each room.
It startled me
By playing sounds of life,
Frightening me into the certainty
I wasn't alone.
Taking it apart
brick by brick,
(might as well be)
Erasing personal clutter, & worn foot-paths
So that strangers will
Assess It's worthiness.
Even when we'd taken back everything,
It birthed up more for us to cradle.
Out of the farthest corners of rusted-paint-cans, rat-crap,
Grandbabies' photos, wedding planners,
Hand-made Father's day cards, a favorite uncle's watercolors.
It never stops
creaking, moaning, humming.
(Why should an empty home sound uninhabited?)
-Holidays make me miss my mom, and seek my siblings
This was written a year ago, july, amidst a crying break in the middle of shampooing the carpets of my old home. This theme seems to be emerging with fellow writers this month. -Peace
-all rights reserved, 2009