A Home, Once
Image Credit: Samuel Branch on Unsplash This used to be a home. Comings and goings of spirited soles, Laughter jogging up the stairs, Arguing with the cracks in the plaster. Now all that's left is silence, Heavy, like the dust that clings to the corners. This used to be a home. Not just shredded muscles of cement walls, Or brittle bones of iron rods. Not just the rotting corpses of generational furniture, Or the stench from oozing floorboards. Paint peels from the walls like scabs, And ghosts of lullabies linger in the rooms. Spiders record yesteryear in their webs, Replacing blemishes from framed photographs, Framing remains of their own. Overgrown weeds guard the entrance, And cataract-ridden windows barely see Through the haze of fading memories, As if the house, too, forgets Which direction the wind once carried hope. Time gnawed at the foundation. Slow and unfeeling, Consuming names and faces. Once-familiar voices now pulse faintly, Like strains from another life That nev...
