April 5th Poetry Prompt: Make a blackout poem of a previous written piece

   

I walk by your old house
and the door is moved
from the neighbors drive
to the front yard
But there is a new path
leading to new stairs
and I stare
and can't see the old pool
because its torn down
I remember the feel of the stoned path
to your back porch
and my bare feet smacking against them.
I remember your garage
and that damn shed
and the broken chain-link fence near it
where we used to sneak and hide
in the game
I remember kick ball
and the sensor light
that came on at night
telling me to go home
and return the next day.
Now there are foreign cars in the driveway
and a woman I don't recognize
decides to sweep the back patio
like there's dirt surrounding it
But it's my memories
my past
your house
your ghost
but you aren't a ghost
because you aren't dead--
just counties away at some school
with other friends who aren't me
and we haven't been friends
for nine years
since something happened
between me and you with them to us
and I can't recognize you anymore
and you wouldn't know me.
And I'm sitting her now at this new coffee shop
that popped up within the last two years
wondering why you're on my mind
but your house--
because it'll always be yours to me--
as on my path.
And I wonder if when
you come back to visit
if you'll see this place
and sit where I am
and think of me.

(4/5)