The house has been
under construction
For as long as she remembers.
She comes, she goes
And each time,
Something has changed.
One day the backyard
Is a jungle, the next
A cement playground.
The family portraits rearrange themselves
Or pose, smiling separately,
As though for a photograph.
Sometimes they look
Frightened, their eyes fixed
On something just behind her.
One day she comes home
And her father is gone.
“He fell into a crack
On the wall,”
Her mother tells the policemen.
“There are no cracks
On the walls,” they say.
“Just wait,” she says,
Runs her hand over the walls’
New smoothness.
“They were here
Just yesterday.”
The policemen leave,
Murmuring about
Crazy women, crazy girls.
The three sigh
Together. Under construction,
her mother promises,
Just a little while longer.