new love

When your father finally surrendered,
the house rested

When he left
you left
and I left
and by the time it was autumn
the realtors came
buzzing through
touring oblivious families around the naked construction
for months
opening and closing
and opening and closing the tarnished front door
each time letting in a swarm of orange, yellow, vermillion leaves
that whirled through the white vacancy

Only after his death
could the house be offered

Only after his death
could the place be occupied
by new love

[by Sarah Esmi // published in The San Pedro River Review Vol 14. No. 1; Spring 2022]