The city lights and winding roads,

the bathtubs and harmonicas,

the time he shaved her legs.

She wrote it off so painfully,

striking hard against each key.

It’s all ink on paper now,

set inside a box.

She’s pulling up the floorboards,

nails separate from flesh,

blistered fingers bleed.

She brought him to this house, 

where it all began,

so that she could bury him,

and learn to live again.