1205 Somewhere Street
Another former beauty queen,
Orphaned in her prime,
Waits dressed in her daytime best.
Sunshine through the transom
Casts no memory.
Waved watercolored glass protects her secrets.
Standing outside, we can only imagine her story.
Sometimes when inspiration has taken a long vacation without having the courtesy to leave a forwarding address, my only recourse is to play and hope something turns up. In a way it’s very freeing because you can’t have expectations about the outcome when you don’t know what you’re doing. This photo is a layer of a Citrasolve scan and an image of an old table and chairs on a forgotten porch.With the dots and colors, it has a playful feel and is just right for sitting with a friend on a fall day and enjoying the atmosphere. It felt welcoming, even with a no trespassing sign.
Roaming the back roads in southern Mississippi, out the driver’s side window I spied a tall chimney and jigsawed glass windows.The challenge was to find the house and take a closer look.After a quick left and several wrong turns, we finally found the driveway.
Posed in front of us stood a neglected brick dowager melting in the sun. As I wandered around the outside peering in windows, untouched marble fireplaces and intact chandeliers surprised me.
The front door stood open and invited us into the shade. Stepping inside I caught my breath. A pair of beautiful pier mirrors flanked the door.The home still wore tired eighties decor.Peeling wallpaper and flaking paint sprinkled the floor and tempted my camera.
Climbing the front stair, nervously I tiptoed – unsure what might be waiting.A hammering sound stopped me. I hadn’t seen a truck or van so I wasn’t expecting workmen. Calling out, there was no response. Two rooms down the hall, I found a shade slapping the window frame in the breeze.Laughing at myself, I explored a bit more and headed down the back stair.
Hard to imagine abandoning a home such as this, a variety of stories played in my mind.Taxes, inheritance problems, relocation, none of those seemed romantic enough for the home’s history.
Amazed and grateful that there was no sign of graffiti or partying to mar her fading beauty.I hope that she will be restored and home to a family who loves her.
I would love to have seen if the interiors of the house were as colorful as the outside, but no one was home.
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.