Listen to poem:
Housekeeping a Second Nature
the rooms grow smaller
quieter
after every departure
clicks the latch
they're built to keep
weather out
not harbor grudges
that echoes leave behind
forks, vases, plates and pens
settle into their places,
as though, they're expected
the yellow walls
once held afternoon teas,
until the laughter
sealed the paint
and screened the light
the banister
smooths its touch
before any hand
remembers its feel
the curtains
lift their seams
peering underneath
themselves
the stairs
borrow sunlight
for the tread of feet
the kettle
answers itself
in a kerfuffle
chorus of steam
the floorboards
clear their throats
one board
too soon
the hallway
widens for every
shadow
still waiting
outside
every afternoon
rehearses mornings
one curtain call
at a time
the dust learns
the shape
of fingertips
the chairs
lean much closer in
to listen
the doormat
combs its
greeting nap
every echo
tries on
a different voice
as the house
leaves
the door
ajar
for no one
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