Selling the House

My dad is selling the house,

and I don't have a say, but

I would like to.

It's hard to imagine

no longer spending time

in the place where I was born,

the place where Mom died,

the anchor of our visits to Argentina

since we migrated 12 years ago.

Selling the house feels like the death

of a death, like the death of

my parents, it feels like being

homeless again, it feels like

ripping a bandaid on

a C-section scar,

it feels like force-feeding

numbness into my stomach,

it feels like being alone in a world

where nothing lasts forever

and where 

the winter of our discontent,

bleeds all over the white snow.

I feel like the universe

is conspiring for me

to learn to be stable

without external forces

and of that, I am afraid.

Since I was young,

I have worked hard

to accept

everybody is going to die.

I am having a harder time accepting,

groundedness dying.