The House I Grew Up In
I walked through gardens of tumbleweeds.
The back door swung like a metronome.
Spiders gnawed at windowsills.
The kitchen smelled like cigarettes.
The living room was a coffin filled with dust.
My bedroom opened into a star-filled sky.
I ran through hallways of empty picture frames.
My key chain rattled against my teeth.
My car began to burn in the driveway.
Sidewalks gave way to quicksand.
You said I could come home again.
Published in the Dunes Review, Volume 20, Issue I