Changes
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.
©theeditoffice2013
the edit office 
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