Grateful, Yet Nostalgic
In the back of the house,
shoes littered the floor
and clothes mixed together
in a laundered heap.
A constant voice ringing out
would tell the culprit to clean up
and we’d look at each other,
accusations ready to slip.
We would go to separate corners
routinely shoving things into small spaces,
mumbling under our breath as we went.
Until nightfall when we fell into our stacked beds
that separated us, yet allowed peaceful sleep
with an awareness of your presence.
Day after day, it was the same game-
it was fight after fight until we were forced to make up
with nowhere else to go.
On the other side of the house,
shoes are in a line
and clothes are in a hamper.
There’s no voice telling me to clean.
No one to look to and no one to blame.
No small spaces for things to go.
At nightfall when I retire to my bed
and I lay there alone
grateful, yet nostalgic.