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
