I passed my old house today,
the longest lived of a dozen,
the one whose phone number I still remember
it looked so tired,
its warped cedar lining the sloping front porch,
and dirty, seamist siding cracking,
faded by the sun
and those same creaky boards offered welcome warning,
as feet three sizes too small walked me up the steps,
trepidus palms swiping years away to peer though the old glass
each foggy breath brought ghosts,
tear streaked memories,
mind’s eye seeing your long, silky black hair gone short,
your wistful hand stroking the womb swelling bigger than yesterday’s regret,
heavy dreams wilting, curling the corners of the flowered wallpaper
I heard your plastic giggle,
listening to the silly joke while you folded a shirt,
smiling on the outside, but your fickle heart fading like the scorched siding
and melting into mine
that’s when I realized I’d closed my eyes,
and my chest no longer rose,
my own heart threatening to atrophy,
and when that last warm, exhaled breath faded away,
I saw your reflection in the glass,
staring back at me
with steely resolve, I turned and walked away,
down that broken sidewalk, past my sunken handprint,
and never looked back
-image via Pixabay
Heart Breathings 