By: Ann Christine Tabaka

Walking past the old dwelling,
looking in through doleful eyes.

She is an abandoned house,
tenebrous windows, crumbling

walls. Visions of the past haunt
her rooms, as she combs through

the disarray. A dark shadow
lurking in the closet evokes images

of some forgotten past. Peeling
paint, chipped plaster, her joints

are creaking hinges. Her mind, a
cobwebbed attic peppered with

incoherent words. She wades
through the rubble of her own

demise. A house that has stood
the storms of time. Age demands

its toll. Turning to walk away, the
once beloved house is left in ruin.