My house has been vandalism.

A kind of graffiti that sticks out to the eye.

Maybe sharp like a rock in the bottom of a shoe.

Or just static noise that fades into the background.

But it is not the kind of graffiti that a person is used to.

There was no spray paint or markers ever used.

***

I have left my mark on this house.

Scratches and bumps on the walls.

Where my sister ran my chair through the bedroom door or where I took off the trim.

A kind of vandalism I remember the meaning of.

Not a protest but statement of life.

One that will add more marks in the future.