Disintegration of a Home


(I actually wrote this in November, and as I was cleaning out my desk, I realized I had never posted it.)

First a friend came over
And left with picture frames
And poker chips.
Brickabrack in storage
Emerged as hearty substitutes
For their departed peers.
When the plants walked away,
They left a barren wasteland,
Until we decorated for
One last Christmas.
Tomorrow we’ve invited loving buzzards:
“Come. Pick the flesh off our bones.”
How to donate the old piano?
Given us via cancer,
Too precious to sell,
Too large to pack.
Few, few, very few
Treasures will be packed,
The well-loved sediment of our lives,
Seeds to start again,
Grafts to rebuild,
As we move home again
To the place where we
Have no home.