The space has long since ceased being theirs.
It held on being hers for 8 years after her death,
even as he filled the oven with plastic bags,
even as fewer and fewer people came to visit
Once we moved in, bit by bit the balance of belongings shifted from theirs
to ours.
And suddenly, somehow, I had been there,
longer than I had avoided the space, longer than she had been there,
in that place she never wanted to be, me neither
The space seems to swallow people whole, and so maybe,
the space
belongs to no one but the ghosts
of everything that goes left unsaid
