My Empty Room is Crowded

on May 29, 2013 in Poetry

My empty room is crowded
With things no longer here
Where is the cloth balloon?
the paper crayons?
the tapping at my window?

They all had voices these childhood things
But they are silent now
The ceiling fan lost an arm
In a battle no one now remembers
And the only light still lightning
Is drowning in its last mournful and incessant hum.

And what will keep us company when at last her breath gives out to spill a new born dark on the room of strange neighbors?

They cleaned the broken glass
And stole away the shards
Covered the charcoal pencil door,
broke its handle
it had a glass handle
it never opened anyway

I hid the Never mural when the clothes again were hung, but there’s still blood in the finger-painted walls. I traced my shadow freely for proof that it was there that the laughing corner faces would have someone keep them company.
But these are not the things of childhood
They are awake
long shadows from small doorways
a whistled reassurance down the lonely hall
paper over paper
and solid armor words
can neither resurrect the room I can remember but no longer see nor can they protect me from the shell it left behind

my empty room is quiet
where the silent sounds are loudest
I can still see the metal hook
Where the cloth balloon was hung
And perhaps the room remembers
My room
My empty room remembers

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