The coy house thinks, “Should I let this man enter me?” Although she pretends to resist at first She soon relents, The pressure giving way and her door granting passage
He pledges to give her hardwood floors To put a swingset in her backyard The finest dressings on her windows Painting her face, Decking her out To show the world how much he loves her Softly wooing, he promises her a family
She hopes this one will make good As he begins his work, She watches the swell in his young wife’s womb And for a while, believes in life again
For the first time in years, She breathes fresh air as they move in their boxes The melding of their past and her future An image so bright, That she is almost blinded by the light When one night, The soon-to-be mother misses her first step
At the bottom of the stairs, He finds his world in pieces As the paramedics pack the body and cart it away The door closes behind them And the air grows stagnant
The only boxes he ever unpacks, Contain spirits To numb him from the haunting emptiness inside The past becomes nothing, but a foot stool Slowly crushed and deformed under his weight Her rooms, Built to house new memories, home cooked meals, and laughter Now nothing, but Stale beer, chips, and wasted life
Created from prompts at the Winter Writing Workshop (Dec. 27, 2015), HEYMAN! Productions