a record plays inside an empty room

there are cobwebs and ghosts, the silhouettes of dreams

that were once more than

memories

more

than this

a rocking chair is slowly swaying

back

forth

back

forth, it remembers the day

when others came out

to play

the children can almost be heard if you listen

if you do not

pray

the cries of the baby turn to giggles

mother’s footsteps ring like cutlery against ceramic teacups

on the wood

of the floor

they never wanted to leave

some say

they didn’t