i've been in your home
since 1920.
longer than your three daughters,
longer than the wine stain
on the living room carpet,
longer than the photo of
your mother's second
marriage.
i've been living inside your walls
longer than you've been
moving those lungs.
and i've been moving
plaster through these lungs.
when I fill the walls
the walls likewise fill me up.
I haven't screamed since
1932.