Rachael Hamilton The House
Poetry
The house stands alone desolate On a plain of empty brown fields Like an ironically standing definition Of abandonment
Violent wind and rain have beaten the wooden boards to the point of skeletal fragility in their harsh assault
broken shingles lay scattered around the house. The roof from which they fell Is bare and collapsed
Splintered window arches Hold but three whole panes Shattered glass litters the ground Their remains in the frame like jagged teeth stuck in a hollow, dead, mouth.
The left turret hangs At a precarious angle waiting To crumble, give in
A twisted worn path winds to where the front steps once sat. Under a thick carpet of weeds it is paved with slithers of stone intricately fit into each other. 9
