Vacant

Twenty years ago, maybe ten.
Alive and awakened
These walls, if they could
Talking. Walking. Seeing. Being.
Grasped a finger. Learned to crawl.

We cannot (k)now.
They have gone away
Waiting for the twenty-fifth of December
To let us in.
Clutter-clean. Dust balls accumulate
Couches, Beds, and Dressers
Rooms otherwise empty
Too much noise

These walls, showing us
Height chart, pencil-marked
erased with paint,
still breathing
The rooms are open,
vacant.