This is a bereaved house:
evidenced by the rough lawn and unretrieved papers.
Day and night the driveway is filled and emptied
as familiar and unfamiliar wheels come and go.
Inside, fragments of a life past are foraged and compiled;
photographs with common characteristic are scattered;
Hoarded trinkets, long buried in deep wells,
examined for clues of an unknown part of that life now gone.
Mourning will pass on to days
as despair numbs to memory past.
An obscure house will again face the world
as the reconciled grieve behind closed doors.
Aug 2005 / Jan 2018
WandeRoseD 