The woods have wormed
their way in as she rages on.
I spy the seedling
Beneath the rafters
Of her unprotected attic.
Drinking up a daily dose of sun, wind, and water.
And the youth is thriving.
I marvel at the muscular frame of the house
Where the joints connect
Listing only slightly
To bear the weight of the
Sagging front porch and
Exposed rooftop, half of which is bare and splintered
Where also the eaves droop, and a possible gutter once diverted the rain.
The windows and the curtains are closed and drawn, except for one
suggesting the possibility of an infestation of the rodent class.
It is a dwelling I liken to a former elegant lady
now drab and stooped,
missing more than a few shingles, the remnants snaking through the tall grass and untrimmed bushes.
Bare beams brace for the coming storm.
Her abandoned vehicle juts prominently out into the street, insinuating her presence, but she has been removed; the house is condemned.
Its former glow regrettably reduced
from a lack of care by an unruly steward
bucking the system with ambiguity and exemption.
And in the interim, we in the neighborhood cringe
as the elements intrude on its dismal form.
The dysfunction is healthy and whole.
Cornelia DeDona 12-9-25
Corney Press 