poem#5
this old house

I used to know every crack in this old house
the way the basement floor felt on my bare feet in the winter
and how the bathroom stayed so cold
the flashbacks of us piled up on the stairs
so that we could all fit in the pictures

lots of memories of family dinners
and how the smell of breakfast waffled through this house
on saturday mornings
just mindful recollections now
as boxes line the walls
as pictures and mirrors come down
and furniture sold

a sort of ending
a sort of beginning again
all just phases in the end