A House Divided

Here we are together,
apart.

In a room
strewn with stuff.

Yours?

Mine.

Here are books once loved,
found
together
in dusty stores.
I see you still,
in pools of powdery sunlight
grinning to yourself at Leacock.

"Remember this?"

"Yes, I do."


Smiling faces,
photographs from a time
we have rejected.
Friends stacked, faces to the wall,
avoiding our shame,
waiting to remind us.

Waiting to be held,

to hold.

This china dog,
the Fowler's gift.
They watched us, arm in arm,
at the reveal.
Your eyes met mine, flew apart,
and afterwards
we laughed.

So hideous.

So kind.


Our love, once strong,
weakened from neglect,
we were not looking
or ignored warnings.

Lives evolve in
tangles, thoughtless gestures.
Egos clashed,
harsh words that created
this divided house.