Pickney Lane

Pickney Lane

I went by way of the old house this morning
her windows were gaping and warning to me
the stench of the mold and the tepid draft
were foggy memoirs of the chain and your needs.

The oak and the plum tree are coy as well
they know the secrets and they share them with glances
the house looks sadly to me from the field
I could love her, but not in these circumstances.

The earth is somber underneath this vessel
and I can only stand at the edge of that earth
the house longs for me to embrace her
but she keeps her direction, she knows it would hurt.

I went by way of the old house this morning
I am haunting this place, yet still alive.
Your spine and your breath are locked away safely
so the house and the plum tree can smile if they cry.

~acs