when we moved into this house,
i never thought death
would move in here with us.
but there he is
staring at me from the tiny hole
in the bathroom floor where the ants come in.
i still can’t believe
he unpacked his stuff in her nursery.
i catch myself sometimes
sitting in the rocking chair with henry
all of a sudden remembering
these walls should have been pink.
i hear a chuckle from the bathroom.
death, it seems, like to mock me
even long after he has made himself at home.