House huddles three stories high.
I approach slowly, place one foot at a time,
on littered pathway. Shutters bracket
some windows and tremble askew.
Rock-broken panes sit jagged in the sun.
Open front door hangs on one hinge.
molded leaves lay scattered down the hall floor.
curled strips of wallpaper adorn the ceiling.
I walk the rooms seeing dirt-streaked walls,
plaster-dotted floors. I hear loud memories.
Giggles ring from the plaster in the rec room.
Teacups rattle in the sunlight spattered parlour.
"Goodnight Moon" murmurs from nursery walls.
The smells of roast beef and apple pie mingle
with laughter from the dining room ceiling.
Water rushes from rusted kitchen taps—
a background to bickering siblings
dividing up dish-washing chores.
Back at the front door I hear
"thank you" from aunt Margaret and
old tail-wagging Frodo's farewell barks.
I leave the house, abandoned.
