Today a contractor stood 
in our family room,

tore down a small wall,
and pulled the fireplace out like a plug

to make way for a different angle, 
a right angle, which will allow

for a new wall to push your piano 
up against, instrument we bought 

when you came home 
from the locked ward 

where you taught yourself to play 
“Für Elise” one slow note at a time, 

and I stood quietly, peering 
into the unfamiliar emptiness, 

as I had stood listening to you 
through the phone

those months ago, leaning 
into the pocket of air, 

the strange openness
I didn’t know to think existed,

beyond demolition, waiting
on the other side.