One Room
It was home;
enough living space
to raise a family
and have fun,
small garden with borders,
a dog and a cat.
It was everything and more;
it was home.
Time passed;
hints to down-size
met with granite resistance
as more doors closed,
the past falling asleep and
memories filling spaces
where life used to sing.
Inevitable clinic blue
walls beckoned,
resistance all spent.
One room, carbon copy
of many more;
high seat chair on
industrial carpet,
plywood bookcase,
a bed and a bad smell.
The world had shrunk
and there was nowhere
to call home.