Nevermind the house, whose every corner
is bound to collect dust as the evidence
of your insecurities. Its brick and mortar
are more preoccupied with the elements.
Nevermind the dog hair, which always burgeons
whenever the sun seeps in. It’s a mere
optical illusion, just pull the curtains
and watch your anxieties come to clear.
Nevermind its size. Your concern presumes
that we are triggers and should be scrutinized,
but it stood before us, its empty rooms -
as gorgeous as they were underutilized.
Nevermind its grandeur. It’s beyond compare,
but if you can’t find a way to relax in it,
I won’t waver to take up the axe to it,
and won’t rest until there is nothing there.