They grow too quickly-
a mother says.
-much too quickly for my
back, my arms
my aching feet
they bolt right out the door,
I swear.
They only leave me prints
fingerprints that dance
on the walls of a second-hand
home
trickle down the windows
trickle down the mirrors,
the doors.
I can still hear their restless feet
race through its hallways,
up and down the stairs.
The rooms remember
how they laughed
how they were so small

Once
they could not even open the door.
I swear.

yesterday