Changes NaPoWriMo




The big house holds its breath

between visitors.

Since the funeral

the front door has forgotten

how to open.

Sleep starved bedrooms slumber.

Latticed windows peer shyly

from beneath fringes of weeds

spilling from the gutter.

Sunlight twinkles on brass pieces of your past.

The television quietly entertains itself in one corner.

And all around, boxes in which we are folding your life

moving eighty years , fifteen miles down the road

to somewhere smaller…

more manageable…

with a warden to check on you…

And a red button alarm should you need it.

Much better…Honestly.

The rhythmic tick

of Anneliese’s clock

comforts you

in a world you don’t understand any more.


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