Elegy Poem: Grandpa’s House, by Sergiy Pustogarov

standing in the doorway
peeking around the door
half ajar on its creaking hinges

did the kitchen change
its color overnight
did the paint in the bathroom
crumble and peel all
while i was
asleep last night

the bedroom started smelling
like mold just this
morning

but somehow something
tells me that this doesn’t
all happen overnight

like it was a
storm building
with the mice behind
the door slowly
chewing away the wood

and the air just
grew too moist

maybe it was
the sink full of dishes
that somehow hadn’t been
touched in two months

but it’s been this
way for some years
because i haven’t been able come
and pay a visit to grandpa

but i think
it just must have
happened all overnight

because how does
all this crumble
one day over ten years
he just died last night

i thought