What was Once Home

Where I’m from is an old little house,
Fraying at the seams with waterlogged edges,
An enclosed porch with a screen door that falls off, 
A door that doesn’t lock or unlock,

A yard once full of fun things,
Now reduced to empty grass. 
No more rotting swingsets,
Broken slides,
Reclaimed sandboxes, 
Dead grass patches from a long-gone pool.

A place where two kids played,
Full of life and joy,
Running wild and free,
Under a careful mother’s eye.

Where I am from is an interior slowly replacing a once lively bunch,
A coffee table once covered in color and scratches,
Sanded and painted, now used as a decor piece.
An entertainment center once chipped and broken,
Restained and repaired. 
A chipped and dented railing is now made new.

A mother once present and kind,
Turned cold and distant.
Two daughters pushed out, lost and hurt,
Wandering in again in hopes of finding what once was.

Carpet once deep pine green,
Now pale and beige.
Walls once chipped and stained with playful antics,
Now, freshly painted, comes with warnings.
A wall filled with pictures is now bare except for
A singular painting left to decorate.

A mother’s harsh warning,
“Don’t ruin everything like before.”
Two daughters too afraid to touch a thing,
Afraid of angering their once kind mother.

A mother whose love grew strong,
That sheltered two daughters,
Now withered and decayed.
Anger and resentment now take place,
Leaving two daughters confused as they are erased,
A mother is now set on fixing and replacing everything that isn’t perfect.

Where I am from was a home that once housed two children,
Reduced to primed and preened perfection,
Warnings given to be careful of the new items,
“Lest you damage them like before.” 
A yard once loud with laughter,
Silent except for the mower.
A house once full now lies,
Half empty.