Nana's house is on the market,
Perfect location beside the woods,
And a few hundred feet from the water.
I can hear the patter of feet,
The closing of doors,
The squealing of feral animals
Nana fed with peanuts,
The condo bird houses
And broken blue eggs.
The cries and sirens and confusion.
When Nana died,
She was sealed in the wall of a mausoleum,
But continues to escape
In the eeriest of ways.