Strangers

The empty house smelled dusty, as it never did,

but we pretended not to notice.

Scrubbing the walls with mildewed rags,

the mother turned to me and said,

“It only has to appear clean.”

The last thing left was the buggy computer.

Paige glared at it,

she felt it more than I did.

This house wasn’t supposed to be hollow,

and yet it was.

The ghost dog had finally run away,

every unhinged episode grown small,

six years had never happened,

the house belonged to someone else,
and we never lived there.