My footsteps echo off the empty, abandoned houses

I walk alone, no street lamps to light my way

Absently, I kick the trash strewn on the cracked, uneven sidewalks

This was the street where I grew up

The once vibrant houses, so full of life, of family and friends

Now stand as silent sentinels, forlorn, ashen, and colorless

Moonlight casts shadows on empty sockets & sagging jowls,

Void of any life

A few stray dogs meander in my direction

Cowed, wary, with hopeful eyes they sidle closer

Like the houses, once loved now discarded...

they still long for a human touch, a spark

A rusted out refrigerator graces the front yard

of a collapsed, burned out dwelling

This once was my grandmother's house

Its front steps worn smooth from many feet

Sunday mornings I awakened to the smell of cut grass,

the fragrance of laundry and freshly baked bread

drifting up the narrow stairs to my room.

Snuggled close to my sister, lulled by the murmur of voices below,

I would drift back to sleep

A honeysuckle vine had sprung up outside our kitchen door,

its soft green tendrils blindly seeking entry

Pulling apart the blossoms, I would greedily suck out the nectar,

then hunt for ripe blackberries along the back fence

The fence lies broken, its poles lean drunkenly amongst the dead vegetation.

At the end of the block, a lone lamp hangs its head sadly, gently swaying in the breeze

The dogs silently trail me as I leave my past behind.

I can no longer go home.