How empty the house is
yet birds build their homes around it.
The grass uncut, a wild reentry.
An unpleasant sound at night,
the dogs barking past my thoughts.
a deep unrest.
I gather dust and sculpt defeat.
And remember being sick often.
Her hand props up the arches.
The ceiling infests the corners of
my mouth. I only speak to lizards,
they talk back bitterly.
She eats off of my plate and tosses
the bones at me.
The skeleton of childhood,
we are arguing on the other side
of this door.
My mother and father now filled
with sorrow as they listen to me
repeat myself on the other side.
I am knocking from outside
no one here to let me in.
