the forgotten home

The Forgotten Home


Odd it was to say halloo to a flat that had
been empty for so long, the word dropped
on the floor and lifted dust off carpets,
an audible sigh escaped through the open
door, ten years vigil had come to an end.
Grimy windows, dead flowers on the sill,
spiders had perished in their own webs.
Letters on the floor, yellow now, addressed
to me, too late to open them, only to find
that my hasty departure and long absence
had been misplaced; I’m not Peer Gynt
my Solveig wasn’t the type to hang around
waiting too long. This is my home, journey
is over, I have shelves full of old friends.