The House
The door frame stands empty,
poison ivy creeps the outside.
The siding warps into weary smiles,
studs peek through the empty spaces.
Wall paper hangs; a faded flower
dying of neglect. Stairs creak in time
with my slow climb to the second floor.
Windows sag like veiled eyes.
In the sun’s rays, dust motes sift downward.
Peeled open, the metal roof lets spring rain
pepper the dusty floor. Winter snows will
cover the lost.
belle reve 2016
