this is not your home

i hear the slight knock at the door,
just barely a tap
of knuckles
upon the wood.

i get up from the couch
and peer through the peep hole.

i see an old woman, a waif
of a person
standing there in the cold.

skin and bones, her eyes hollowed
out from fear
and worry.

she's crying and scared.
i crack the door open,
and ask her what? why are you

here. she's broken, trembling,
in need of something.
who knows.

her hands are empty,
no words fall from her lips,

but I've been down this road
before
and tell her, sorry, but

i don't know you. go away.

i have nothing left to give.
you have to go.

this is no longer your home.