Return to Sender

The stairs groan under the duffel bag,

a heavy, canvas ghost of the city I couldn't keep.

My old room smells like cedar and long neglect.

I haven't slept here in ten years,

but the wallpaper remembers the shape of me.

There’s a dark rectangle by the window,

a shadow of the poster I ripped down

the day I thought I was never coming back.

In the yellow reach of the desk lamp,

the dust motes spin in a slow, thick orbit.

I drop the bag on the carpet and wait

for the house to finish its sigh.