Still There (Poetry)

In my head they still live there —
I know that isn’t so
for all has given way to change —
they moved out years ago.

Yet in my thoughts that’s where they are —
in those four painted rooms —
the same old curtains, bleached and worn
the same old rose still blooms

outside the window. By the door
the peonies still nod
the gate still creaks, the hinge unoiled
the fence leans tired wood...

I don’t go back to visit much
except inside my head
then I can see them still alive
and not believe they’re dead.