Demolition
A creeping vine
Comes through a window.
Torn screens are seen
Through another.
The walls are marked,
Ready for the wrecking crew.
Beautiful French doors
Opening to a room, long unused.
It will all be gone soon.
The oak floors,
So meticulously crafted,
And an attic — did children play there?
What dusty memories dwell in the cobwebs?
Who lived inside these walls?
Were children born here?
Did someone die here?
Was there laughter; were there tears?
The stairs of redwood,
The old laundry and kitchen,
With built-in ironing board.
The back steps, all overgrown —
And the old bathroom.
It will soon be gone,
Too costly to repair;
The land’s so expensive —
Let’s build four new houses there!
Things always change;
Nothing stays the same.
clarakatalin 