it's not your house anymore,
but you stare in,
standing in the rain.
face pressed against the window.
the house is dark, hollowed.
the door is locked.
there is no mail in the metal box.
weeds are growing through
cracks in the sidewalk.
the yard is dirt.
the trashcans are empty with rust.
a broken car is on blocks.
the blue plastic pool out front
is collapsed,
the algae has turned into
something else.
there were children once
in this house.
there were parent making love
then bleeding, taken away
in handcuffs.
there was laughter on tv,
and crying behind closed doors.
there were unpaid bills,
and empty cupboards,
somehow though,
you found a way out.
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