The House I Grew Up In
The House I Grew Up In
had a hole
in the hall closet door
father’s fist-size
with jagged edges
punched
at mother’s eye level
unseeing relations hung
winter coats inside
innocents asked:
"what happened here"?
it was part of the decor
like the living room schefflera plant
and the wooden crucifix
above Patricia’s bed
I covered it with a cardboard Santa
for the holidays, still
at night
I heard its screams
years later, in my garden
I unearthed that hole
and filled it with the roots
of a sedum
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