The White House by the Red Rhododendron

i gave up my own life for that in the house

the one with old, flaking wallpaper

with crooked foundations and busted light bulbs

i went back to the garden where a Rhododendron grew

rooted generations ago. it keeps growing back, even though

i try to cut it down

trying to scrub away the stain on the carpet

the one i used to drag toy cars across

a smell has set so i throw it away

on the shelf are the only words in the house

the smell of dust spreads when lighting the fire place

although the draft kills the warmth

the basements floods with water, in the attic moths lives

family photos are never brought down in the cold living room.