No one comes to my door 
Or faces me from across the table. 
I can never find a guest to meet me or dine 
They leave no knocks of footprints behind 
I stay in the vastness of the walls 
Although it is never empty at all 
 
I have filled my life with the possessions of others  
Putting their cups on someone else's coasters  
On tables that have been abandoned 
I cook with their pans and eat from their hand painted plates 
Wearing their cloths and polishing their jewelry 
 
Their books fill countless shelves and corners 
Still brimming with sentiments, notes, and dates 
Most have ended up here because they are unwanted 
They continue to fill the vastness of it all 
Bringing where they began
Where they have been and will be 
 
For now, they are my guests,  
Sitting at my dinner table, 
Waiting by the door.