We really lived in that house,
if it was the wrapping we
were the candy, the present,
and inside there stirred our
souls and the house bore
witness
and the calendar
pages flipped,
the seasons
passed, our photos
on the walls
faded, the trees grew
taller—
and when
it was time to go,
we emptied the house
but couldn’t look back,
it looked so small
without us.

Categories: poetry

Tags: mid-life crisis, nostalgia, parenting, poem, poetry, sentiment, William Pearse writer