This house stored clothes and shoes and toys.

Extra rooms for guests that occasionally stayed

An office that was empty

A piano that was rarely played.

We were sucked into the abyss of the American dream.

Hoping to better the lives of our children

After money was in the bank

After neglecting the dinner table.

This house stored growth and change

And a safe where we locked up our timepieces

It housed heartache and loneliness

And phantoms that reminded us to live today

It housed ashes

It housed tears

It housed passion

It housed fear

We remodeled the kitchen to wipe away all the loss

We put together a trampoline in the backyard

To inject laughter into our veins

We painted the walls and adorned them with pictures from our Motherlands

But we were not home

My heart did not long for a bigger lot

But for a family that walked hand in hand

For watching the stars on the patio

For falling asleep naked with the windows open

And dancing

Always dancing

In the kitchen, barefoot

As a reminder to stay grounded.

So I walk away

Emmerged, dislodged, uncovered

And pledge that the next place

Will not be full of things, but of an abundance of joy.

~

Author: Ashley Martinez

Editor: Sara Kärpänen

Photo: Elizabeth Lies / UnSplash