Uncle Joe · Glass · Adjustment

I removed the bedsheets, took down the drapes and
replaced them with blinds, rearranged the furniture.

I painted the walls white, ripped up the carpet to
reveal the hardwood floors beneath, scrubbed the
bathtub and shower. All of her things are gone,
     every last little reminder I can find.

And yet, as I walk down the hallway and into each
empty room, I can still smell her skin. Her laughter
     bounces from wall to wall; an echo like torture.

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