Thursday, October 19, 2023

The House On The Hill

from the silent rooms only
    dust and a generation 
    of stale cigarette smoke
cobwebs in corners
a cold woodstove
yellow residue on walls
stained curtains
in the bathroom 
    a glass holding dentures 
a broken coffee cup in the kitchen sink

the grass now too high
the gardens overgrown
the trees along the driveway
    recovering nicely in the melt water
    without the winter influx
    of road salt

a house built
land sculpted and tended
the realization of a dream
    ashes in their mouths

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thoughts on Bots, Poetry, and Coming Back Again

I checked my blog's numbers after my last post. My readership seemed to be exploding, but considering the volume was all from Singapore,...