The Floorboards

Beginning with the one I’m standing on, 
I start to pry the planks up one by one, 
With nothing but the hope that when I’m done 
Whatever might be down there isn’t gone. 
The house I am destroying is my own. 
I have to tear it up to see what’s wrong. 
I buried something here when I was young
Which had the power to render less alone 
Whomever held it, but it’s been so long 
I doubt that if I found it I would know. 
And so I drag this slowly shrinking crowbar 
From room to room, and listen to the song 
Of screeching nails relenting, and the creak 
Of dusty floorboards disinclined to speak.