Abandoned Home


B. Silberman

Turning onto a side road

Demoted by the interstate

Into a memory,

A lonely house holds its breath.


Dressed in rusted metal lace

And silvered siding,

Its parched paint wrinkles

Soften in the late afternoon sun.


Drunken doors whisper invitations.

As porches sagging from the weight

Of remembered footsteps,

Discourage casual visitors.


Ambitious vines strangle columns and posts

While roses cavort shamelessly.

The laboring sound of  wasps and wood bees

Muffles its pleas for  rescue.

About unsouthernbelle

I am a native New Yorker , transplanted to Memphis, who is a photographer, teacher, and wanderer. I am inspired by the beauty and stories that resonate from abandoned places and found objects. View all posts by unsouthernbelle

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