We wiped down the walls to remove the tobacco shadows
from all the cigarettes you smoked after dinner
when we’d sit around and you’d tell us your stories.
We filled in the holes and removed
any impressions of the pictures you’d hung;
the photos of our school days, holidays, birthdays,
the portraits of innocent times,
ignorant of mortality.
A coat of paint, a neutral beige,
now muffles all the whispers of the life we had,
back when you’d tuck us in at night
and tell us you loved us.
After the sale we’ll divide the proceeds
according to your will
and go on with our own lives,
in our own separate houses.
Published in Door=Jar Issue 9, Winter 2019