Home
I would close my eyes and walk down the stairs
I never needed to see to know what’s there.
My small gray house so perfectly placed.
I had memorized every crack in the driveway that my house faced.
I would tiptoe over the squeaky wooden floors.
I remember hide-and-seek behind every swinging door.
The comforting gold sofa and all of its ripped seams.
I loved our memories from Christmases when we all still believed.
I remember the whispers between the bedroom walls
I miss the interruption of my mom’s dinner calls.
But most of all I remember the sound
of when the men first dug into the ground.