No place is abandoned, I tried to tell her,
Even as she showed me pictures of
Her childhood home: stone cracked by windows,
The light a panoply scattered through karst.
She weeps at buttered words, tells me of the shadows
She knows nothing bad happened there
Researched with google-fu and yet and yet and so
I gather the coin and make the trek into brambled wood
No bell, no book, no candle: just memories
My grandfather left me, half-true, quiet.
The house is half-consumed by nature
Fighting a battle it refuses to lose
Even the shadows scream of permanence.
I speak the old rites of excorcism carefully
Knowing that no place is abandoned
Not while they can be haunted, and yet
And yet I burn each memory away
And it somehow seems kinder for the loss
She is not home when I return
I think I am not surprised, wondering
What was wanted of me and if I
Too am now abandoned as well