by Samantha Sweigert
I named the light switches. Said goodnight to little things.
(Green Street)
We didn’t talk about the garage until I was old enough.
(Bayberry Drive)
Wood paneled walls killed our hermit crabs. It was good here.
(Nittany Drive)
Money made ceilings higher. Summers through the Fall.
(Franklin Court)
Cats lived in the walls. A warzone of freezer food.
(Gadsen Acres)
Sliding-glass doors sealed in daytime-TV. I stole the car.
(Southern Palms)
First floor, ice storm. More like cabinets than doors.
(Main Street)
I go back—I go back—I go back.
(East Keller Street)
Jesus in the dishes. Severed ties with Disney.
(Prince Street)
A litany of living things I forgot to water. The lost and found.
(West Chestnut Street)
Ghosts here, so I go back.
(West Lemon Street)
Samantha Sweigert lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania in a house full of writers on a street named after a fruit. She spends most of her time wishing she could sleep in and looks for her life in prepositional phrases.
Photo by Michelle Johnsen, Ladybug in a Beehive