fading

packing up to move away
i have gathered and collected
the spoons were the first to go
they were also the last

sitting on the couch, in wait
they would tell you as if to strike
in truth, settling in to ask
"why should there be a desire to stand?"

no more images in the bathroom mirror
a stranger alone sits in the house
casting a shadow across the floor
struggling to meet the swinging door

as frightened eyes have struggled before

remove the furniture with the rhyme
do not expect to sit down with reason
this parlor entertains no guests
just a solitary familiar face

the noise of the television is gone
but the flickering remains
a testament to a moment
preserved despite low rating

settling into the cushions
i am uncomfortable at rest
inertia asks in a hypnotic whisper
"why stand, why stand, why stand?"

so i settle for sitting

as the television teaches disagreement
and the proper use of a blanket
i am forced to wonder if
this house will remember my spoons