By the time she answers the door,
the neighbors have left.
Words dribble from her mouth to no one
and she tumbles, from door to bed and back again,
one foot deaf to the step of the other.
She trips over packed boxes and
stays on the floor,
her lips touching the tile.
Is it time to move out?
For the second time this month,
the hardness does not reply.

Thanks to Jane Hirshfield and classmates for suggestions
Written for Stanford’s English 192V: Occasions of Poetry