The abandoned house
Sits in the lap of the hill
Staring at the highway
Watching cars go by
Waiting for someone to come home
Old stands of dried strands
Of Johnson’s grass and broken glass
Poke up from under
A loose collar of red dirt
Where children played
A farmer’s shirt that frames
A scorched and frayed porch
That the weather disdained and displaced
Left pitched and splayed
On the face of the house
And somehow it stayed
No tears here
Just wood wet with dew
The mindless wind
Flutters shattered shutters
Unhinged spectacles knocked askew
A bit battered
By the last batch of boarders
Why would they trade
Glass for plywood?
This old home yearns for more abuse
This old hearth burns for sooty use
This old roof of charred spars is proof
This old house did not stand aloof
There was a time
Those children grew here
Life was new here
Flowers up the spindle climbed
Heels tapped to familiar tunes
Harmony rang in the rafters
Hands clapped with Aunt Emily’s spoons
The front room sang family songs
In symphony with the laughter
Whenever the family gathered
Now, the unison moon is undone
The timbre and tones in the beams
Strain to sing hymns for no one
The garden outside is long gone
The rest of the yard and the lawn dried
Soon after the girls and boys left home
To follow their dreams
What used to be music in the eaves
Restrains to abide in the vesper
When the spawn leaves the nest
It’s just noise that reversed
To hide in the hollow forest
The joys that once lived here have died
This old house
Is a vacant expression
Of the American dream
With too many memories
To remember any
And nothing nearby to grow green
Not wanting to look back
But having nowhere else to go
This abandoned house
Collapsed in the lap of this hill
Is hoping at the highway
Longing down the road
Wanting someone to come home