misunderstanding

nothing aches more than
preemptive grief filling my home
mom won’t move unless i do
but the exhaustion in my
body chains me to the couch
so the love seat envelopes her, too

joints creak as the cold shifts
and the walls tip in slowly
muscle and sinew
peeling away from the bones
door hinges groaning
to make noise
my boy paces the hall
waiting for something to do

i grew up to be a maze-trap mouse
one that loses out from moving house
every place i stayed
i was captive in my body
relearning rules and dangers

metaphors are cheap
when i talk about these things
my childhood was encompassed
by those who tried their best

my mother
my last one on earth
going back to her childhood
echoing my words
the responsibility
eats me, it engulfs

i miss dad in the worst way:
the silences of his time
are nothing like they are now –
quiet november sunsets
and snoring and back porch cigarettes

this is my mom
muck slow
and stationing in shadow

at least this house
used to be filled with life
even when it was quiet
the lonely had a place to be
in my dad’s hands
in the television remote
in the curtains we kept closed