good bye house

Tonight is the last night we're sleeping in this house. Tomorrow at 8:30 in the morning movers are coming to reveal the secret shame that lives under the sofa, and also to load our entire material lives into a 26-foot truck and drive 30 miles to our new house.

We moved into this house when Chicken was 2.5 and Buster was 6 months old. 

We've been here for 2 years.

But they were 2 big years.

In this house, Chicken learned to sleep in a bed, write his name, ride a bike, question mortality, and how a television set works.

In this house, Buster learned to eat food, climb stairs, talk, walk, sleep through the night, and most importantly, how to trick or treat like the pros.

House, this one's for you.

In the great beige room
there was a crooked blind
and a little kids' broom
and wall-to-wall carpet in -
of all places - 
the dining room.

And there were two little boys
and a floor strewn with toys
and a former somme
and a working-hard mom
and a tub and a sink and a toothbrush that blinked
and a garbage disposal –
Just a sink.

Good-bye, room.
Good-bye, kiddie broom.
Good-bye, carpet in the dining room.

Good-bye, ants
in the boys’ bedroom.

Sweet dreams, boys,
I’ve packed your toys.

Good night, former somme.
Good work, hard-working mom.

Good-bye to our block,
where Buster first walked.

Good-bye tub
And good-bye sink.
Good-bye, home.
Your dishwasher stinks.

(But still.
I’ll never forget the screen door’s groan when Ryan came home,
and the way the boys ran through you,
you steady, level and dry place,
to stand at the top of the stairs and call 
“welcome home, Daddy,”

Speaking as a person who’s supposed to be steady,
and dry,
I know that not one of those invisible things is actually easy to be - 
especially when you're sitting at the table
that's standing on the floor
that creaked under Chicken's footsteps the night he first climbed out of his crib.

Especially when this table,
in this spot,
and this chair, in fact,
is where Chicken first fisted a marker
and wrote enormous letters that filled the whole page,

There is where Buster first pulled to standing.
There is where he stood on the table, dancing.

This is where, tonight, he said, "Our new house is a stinky fish cabbage butt. 
He won't hear it again.

There is where I lay on the carpet and prayed for merciful death
the weekend in which Buster,
then Chicken,
then I all fell to norovirus.
Not Ryan.
He lucked out.
He was at a funeral.

So thanks for being steady, House,
level and dry.
Plus ours,
the place we could just not wear pants)

aaaaaaaand good-night to this softie who needs a stiff drink.

Good-bye, dry roof.
Good-bye, steady bricks.

But fuck you, ants.
Y’all are seriously



No disrespect to Margaret Wise Brown and Clement Hurd
All disrespect to ants.


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