Where The Heart Resides

January 22nd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

In a certain housesnow
Where memory is lodged,
Vacated only by our physical selves,
Occupied by the family
That once called it home
In my routine inspection
Of its cobwebs.

Is there nothing of ourselves
Wedged between the cracks?
The crumbs we let fall away
In careless anticipation
Of better surroundings.
None so fine
As the glow of sunlight
On oaken handrail
Burnished by our many hands.
Or cluster of snow on windowledge,
A small white sparrow huddled there.

Why does the heart
Refuse to relinquish
That which must be
Left to itself?
Were it not for the lonliness
Of what was left behind,
And the urge
To keep it company.

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