Our House of Personality

By: Ethan Davis

Your foundation is no different than that of your neighbors,
    ground firmly into the cool of the Earth with no concern
    for those who dwell above you.
Your walls beg to tell a different story, desperate for language
    but sit mute, hapless, ill-fortuned, burdened to behold
secrets behind closed doors.
Your roof a brute whose concerns lay only in that of basking
    in the symphony of the stars by night and brooding
over the passersby by day.
You are a symbiotic collection of personality:
    Foundation, stoic and unmoving
    Walls, observing and yearning
    Roof, strong but philosophical
Grant me the right to pose but few questions to you, the personalities
    who collectively were my father's home.
Where were you when my father collected our belongings,
    transformed the place we lay our head at night,
Shifted our lives to the unfinished room in the basement
    all in effort to appeal to a woman who
    craved power over weak men?
Where were you when my father rifled his way through our belongings,
    slithering down narrow stairs, perusing casually through
    the possessions of children,
At last laying eyes on the first hundred dollars his two boys have ever earned
    only to kneel his greedy soul down to slide the bills into his own wallet?
Where were you when my father’s trout partner slit the legs of her own cat
shifting blame to our black poodle who shudders at the sight of his
own shadow,
Her obsession with control driving her to purge every nuance of my father’s life
    out, leaving only her?
Where were you when my father’s utterly poisoned mind,
    weaker more now than ever,
    diseased within,
    blinded by a woman half his age,
Took to believing every word she spoke as if it was divinely inspired,
    hoisting our beloved pet into his van making haste
    to drown his life out at the nearest pound - saved only
by my mother?
Your foundation peered into our basement room,
    witnessed our father’s actions.
Your walls watched our father’s descent and stood idle,
    unable to act as his corrupters’ syringe pushed
    her toxins deeper into his veins.
Your roof peered into the sky uninterested, eyes glazed
over as our mother at last realized the truth and
liberated us with sirens blaring.
My brother and I were never touched by abuse but I
    still wonder to this day: Why had you, our house
    of personality, abandoned us too?