These days she has moved away from a house,

Filled with nick knacks and souvenirs of a past life

Taken away in white moving vans.

An outer shell of a life left for a family to renew,

But there will always be the scent of an older life.

She looks back at empty rooms thinking that this is her only home,

To be led lost in a maze of discomfort and sporadic bursts of rage.

A shelf turning barren while putting dusty books,

Filled with diminishing adventures and mystery into moving boxes.

In times of illness and times of health, they’ve always been the foundation of family.

Her husband once came home to the savory spices brewing and stewing,

But in time has fallen ill to a hazy remembrance of what life was.

She once was scared to forget the house,

But soon the four walls disappeared.