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Porch lights flicker in the trees
like fireflies under the darkened sky
winking in and out of existence
the way memories do
when you’re not remembering them.

I wander through the rooms
that were once so familiar
and the dining room
is in the old carport
and a sewing machine
has replaced my bed and my closet
is filled with clothes
that don’t belong to me.

It hurts to acknowledge
that this place is no longer mine
when my feet helped scuff
these hardwood floors and the walls
have witnessed my weeping.
And I wonder how long my laughter
will echo in these halls
or if the house has already
forgotten me. Just another stranger
in this place that is no longer home.