The Long Goodbye

It started as the garden grew unkempt,
tools rusting, peeling paint upon the shed.
The house grew smaller month by month.
Doors locked. Forgotten keepsakes lost
with misplaced keys. The broken jigsaw
fractured, pieces swept away. Dust
everywhere as age prowled fences, waylaid
life within.

The toilet will not work. The air conditioning
wheezes, fluctuates. Joists creak and fail.
The light bulbs flicker fitfully.
The mirror glass has cracked.
We tiptoe round this almost empty house,
lightly touching sills and frames, remembering,
or settle in the window seat to watch
the passing day.

They say the long goodbye will soon be over now.
But we aren't ready, quite to say goodbye.
And you, you rage again "I-want-to want-to want-to walk"
when trying to sit requires an hour of sleep.
You, my childhood home, my place of comfort,
shelter, joy, frustration, love, must fall to dust.
Fare well.