Morning light streams through the window.
Standing next to the door, you smile
The lines and dimples, sun-made freckles
and bright eyes so intent while
you study yourself in the mirror.
Your small hands smooth soft skin
the slope of your shoulders
and come to rest on your hips.
A breeze at the window stirs the chimes,
spinning reflections on your new-found belly
curving outward, cradled in your arms.
Were these stairs ever so quiet?
Even now they seem to groan
under the weight of the clouds.
They’ve been threatening to rain
for weeks, years, months and now,
quiet, solemn dreadnaughts.
it rain, just rain?
The dust is suffocating, it clings to you
and sucks the water from your pores and you hated
The curtains in the window would never stay clean.
You used to sing in the house,
just before I came home, I’d stand in the drive
you heard me on those damn stairs. Just for a while, that
was all, now I’m leaving…the house and the
Your picture was the only thing you left behind.
The dresser with its drawers hanging
out told me enough.