Moving House
By John Ward
My last reflection
Held hostage by the mirror
Will condense and disappear
To be polished away
By a new hand
That will paint over our conversations
And sweep away our shed skins
Houses hold onto bits of our lives
Exposed only by the faintest echoes
Like the ticked off shopping list
Trapped in a kitchen cupboard
Or the row of emptied picture hooks
That carried snapshots of love
And the dusty spiders web
That caught our hopes and fears
Mundane refrains
Of what could become a swansong
Copyright © by the owner.
