Distressed picture frames
empty of memories
hang on walls empty of attention,
in a house empty of family.

There was a time
when laughter bounced around rooms,
sofas filled with bodies,
arguments threw pillows,
and beds now lie folded
around grown reminders
of the pace of time.

I’m not sad at the absence of children
that were never supposed to stay long,
but there is an emptiness.

My Last Vice