Last Night

Last night in this house that's been mine,
ours, for long enough that it seems strange
without the furniture. Just the beds
and televisions now, few things in the fridge
to take over to the new place in the morning.
Not a home, but close enough for now.
I've been safe a long, long time,
kept with care and something
much like love and everything's about
to change. Almost everything, at least
that's how it feels. When there are pictures
hung on walls, smell of dinner hanging
in the air, perhaps I'll find enough security
stuck behind a box to tide me over until
the next bit of drama drops in for a visit,
or asks if it can stay.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013