When a House is a Home

I am living with a stranger.
In a stranger.

Heartache is in the studs.
Homecomings in the drywall.
Pain and joy painted over
in semi-gloss “eggshell.”

A foundation of love.
Anger in the attic.
Here there were babies-
pitter, patter — fantastic!

Were there any mourners?
Thirty years of families,
trapped behind doors
and settling in corners.

Swept up into piles,
all that they had.
This house is my home.
What will we add?