House and luggage

i am from a walled-off womb
a heart unplugged
his childless unvisited grave

(but you are a father, i am here!)

i am staked, a wavering unsure claim
knowing there’s naught but sand beneath
clinging to the fear in the air

they didn’t hit me with any old thing
but had a paddle just for that
she shattered it against my bookshelf

(terrified, but finally free. should i get her another?)

mind, denied remembering
heart, denied feeling
body, denied exercise
spirit, denied.

(what even is that?)

beneath that sand is stone
sure and solid
that house in Springfield is still there
still has my mom in it.

(one of them at least. no dad no more)

he is in my heart now
taking down the christmas lights
he strung up there
(finally, here in april)
his unknowing attempt to mitigate the dark

(while you’re at it, here is your procrastination)

and you, here is your guilt.
i kept it for you, in this velvet box
(this did not help you, nor me)
for you i have no blame

that house in Springfield is still there
the place is mostly the same
its a different me that sees it.

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