An Old Haunt

I drove past your old house the other day. 

You don’t live there anymore. 

I don’t know if you ever truly did. 

Amid your suffering, your tantrums, your screams, 

your clouds left no room for cozy sheets and family dinners. 

Now the front yard sports a cozy “Home Sweet Home” 

decorative well, 

and the front door bears more than just your fist marks. 

Gargoyles of your apologies peak out of the gutters, 

casting bruise-shaped shadows. 

Waiting 

for one of us to return. 

But this was never your home. 

Just like you weren’t mine.