Cherries and magnolias, squirrels and rabbits chasing each other. Neat driveways, where locked up children draw unicorns and letters with pink and blue chalks. I live in a white and grey house, with walls so thin I’m sure they’re made of cardboard and a bored giant will soon come and squash it. The realtor said people like to tear down and build new to suit their taste every time. I don’t know about this, I long for old things. I like that a house will outlive me. Lawn mowers go on buzzing throughout the morning. Immaculate gardens might go together with immaculate souls, I wonder now that I live among stars and stripes, flown at half-mast because America’s under attack. Did you know that rabbits could cry? One gave birth on Easter day. She whimpered and purred throughout the night. It made me think about all that we don’t see when we’re free. Warm pancakes topped with maple syrup, pink strips of turkey bacon sizzling in a cast-iron pan. It’s Sunday again, it’s been Sunday for nine weeks now, the snow’s melted and the grass is going dry.
There’s a large scented candle in the hall, it promised to fill this house with citrus and bergamot notes. It lied.
It still smells like someone else’s place. One that will never be home.
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