By Mackenzie Taylor

does the floor still creek below your little feet
by the bedroom window facing the street?
do you know all of the places to hide
in that house or the places to run to outside?
can I show you how to escape?
did they rip up the stained carpet?
I still smell parts of it –
the beer cans dropped from his hands
part of his plan to leave that house in shambles.
do the walls ramble to you, too?
	that’s all they used to do –
	they were the only ones to know the truth.
	but they never talked back after he smashed the them to pieces,
	leaving the paneling loose, all over the place.
did they replace the broken door frames?.
I miss my old room –
	my old mirror
	watching me grow up far too soon
	watching me stay in there for far too long
do you leave the lights on?

do you ever have bad dreams at night?
is my old bedroom still haunted
	or is it just me?
	I’d like to believe it wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t sleep. 
	maybe I’m not the only one to have nightmares there. 
do his screams still echo up the stairs
or did those leave when I did?
do you get to be a kid?
does laughter fill your hallways?
do you get to eat off of dinner plates
at a table with your family?
do you fight over the little stuff like the tv
or do you plead to be loved?
do your picture frames shine in the sun?

did this house finally become a home
					or is it still just a foundation of one?