Sepia hues from shadowed trunks sparkled
under the glassy spring sun
and created an echoing time warp
through the overgrowth of the forested driveway.

The squawks of blue jays sharpened
as she neared the side of the abandoned house.
Cracked stone steps led down, into darkness,
into forgotten husbanding of canned goods
and dreams of unfulfilled fruition.

Following the vining weeds into full sunshine,
she stopped to shade her eyes
and peer at the huge old-fashioned barn, considered
the broken silo, wondered about the warped sheds
and rusty scraps of metal scarped in the tall grass.
The quiet sloughed through faint-memoried activity.

Turning towards the cracking façade of the large house,
she climbed into the past. The kitchen
was dimmed and unglorified, battered cupboards
left opened and storing ancient rodent’s nests. The heart
of the house was dead, silent except for her breathing.
Passing through the crumbling rooms was ghostly,
emptiness belied ever being loved, shattered windows
protested ever being occupied, peeling wallpaper
drew itself back from her curiosity.

An open trap door above lured her up shivering stairs,
into a wide-open loft of moldering debris. Boxes
of stained books, tatters of mouse-chewed clothes,
overturned crates of non-essentials, hallowed the whole
as apparitions danced between the motes in the air.
Picking up a small, dirtied rag doll, she moved to stand
in the fractured window-case, and stepped out of reality,
dreaming of the faded history
of a forgotten family.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/27/03