A home once full
is a home now hollow
An empty vessel
That used to have a meaning
Inbetween the flowered sofas
and the dying retro wallpaper
was an instrument,
in its place
It should have been there,
But I was used to it where it shouldn't
in the hallway,
with tools and things on top.
That's how I always saw it.
Isn't it funny how a rightful place
doesn't always feel right?
Cold and warm
and
Neglected and used
and
Short and brown and wide and scratched
It stayed and moved
For years and just recently
So the instrument sat
For years gathering dust
And keys singing tone-deaf
Now that house is gone
It's still there but not ours
The instrument was
the last to be removed from that
house
When I find myself missing that
Old place
I stare at her instrument.
It shouldn't be here,
But now I'm used to it
in the corner,
with a freed top.
That's how I see it.
Isn't it funny how a correct place
doesn't always feel like it's right?