An empty shell
Devoid of family warmth
No tv glow
No snuggling on the couch
No home-cooked meal aromas carried on the breeze
You haven’t had family in you for years
A for sale sign, a cry of loneliness
Uncut grass, like an unkempt beard
I feel your depression like a burlap cloak
Where are the little children’s feet, padding across your hardwood floors?
The peals of laughter, do they still echo in your empty rooms?
You still feel the vibrations, the resonance, don’t you?
Oh, I see…life breathes in you still…
Groundhogs have made your front porch their home
Pigeons roost in your attic, cooing out their greetings to you
Is this consolation?
Are you happy?
When we grow old, solitary, with wild hair and wilder ideas, mumbling to ourselves…
with only our thoughts, our pigeons in the attic, to keep us company…are we you?
Are you labeled crazy by the other houses for not wanting to be inhabited?
Are we, humans, crazy for the same reasons?
Or…are we both just waiting for someone to turn the key?