by CHARNTEL CLEVELAND
This home, it holds me.
It heaves
when I say I’m leaving.
Halls lean in,
stalling me,
stained wallpaper
restraining.
Steam beads
bathroom mirrors
like a panicked brow.
Desperate floorboards creak,
bleating my name
as I walk,
exceedingly needy,
pleading for me to stay.
‘I’ll be back,’ I lie,
closing the door for the last time,
sealing an old box of memories
I’d rather forget.