Walls

I sit in a wood-planked room
With my own poetry
On the wall.
But five years is a long
Time ago. And rhymes lend
Their rhythm and
Also stagnate - distance -
Emotion.
I sit under the dark
Cover of night,
Shielded from the
-17 wind chill by
Walls that have embraced
Me as long as I can
Remember.
I sit in what was my
Grandparent’s house,
What now belongs
Only to my
Grandma, but his
Memories are
Whispered in the wood
Plank creaks, exposed in the
Cork board wall that
No longer stands, but
Still seems to cringe
in its own out-dated shame.