An Empty House
I heard a squeak, under my first step
Into the bungalow,
Felt a sigh.
The walls receded as if
They made space for me.
A dusty imprint of an old piano told of
A time when music played.
The floors buckled under the past weight.
Light streamed across the room
Where someone might have sat.
I touched the edges where the walls
Met.
Filled with grime mixed with sparkles
From past celebrations.
Each step creaked a chorus
Of past songs.
Rhythms looped one atop of another.
This room, the only in the house,
Came with an old gas stove
where I’d cook my meal.
Windows faced the sound,
Waves crashed against the cliff.
A screen door led to an enclosed deck.
Chains hung from the rafters.
Here I’d hang my bed,
Swing through dreams and find
The life I once lived.
A house is never abandoned–a mark is left. I’d love to hear from you on the marks you’ve left. You can
contact me at www.abberolnick.com
