Home by Kira Kapelusznik

I wonder who lives in my childhood home.

Running my finger along the cold metal banister,

I wonder if they know

that my dad died in the closet

and my cat had babies under the kitchen sink.

If the walls could gossip

they would tell you how my mom slept beside grief

not even long enough for milk to spoil.

Our family was born there and died there.

The way the light shined through

the north facing windows always

made me believe in resurrection.