How hollow
Inside me
Is the hole
This house once filled,
A home-shaped place
At the hub of the world.
No—don’t explain—
Don’t try to tell
What particular logic
The landlord mouths,
What cold-eyed god
He invokes.
No—don’t ask me
To wish him ill;
That’s one load
I don’t have to box up
And cart away.
No—I won’t stay
To see this soft space
Under the archway
Where we so often stood together,
This well-known pattern
Of moving shade
Where we so often sat together,
Destroyed by someone
Hard with lawfulness,
Armed with dollar signs.
May this junky little house,
This shabby little porch,
Glow with the memory
Of how very much we loved it
Even while it is being torn down.