MICHAEL MEYERS

Candied caramazlied apples, 

unyielding and unbreakable

The creaking sound of those country pine floors

the gentle smell of orchards and smoke.

You hate this house more than any of us,

secrets and secrets unfolded only moments ago.

Your own assurance deceiving you,

playing make believe with your heart. 

I know how much it hurts you 

and your heart cares all too much,

but this home is my dying memory 

that I resent to forget these rooms. 

Rotten pumpkins decaying in the night.

Old movies and your goulash soup. 

You were the one who took me in

A bittersweet embrace I felt so long ago.

You're a free woman, 

years later I realized all along

I could not have missed that home

if you were the home all along. 

-M.R.