The abandoned house at the top of the hill
-where the old woman’s dishes
sat unwashed in the sink,
her clothes draped over the ironing board,
for fifty years-
was torn down last August
with no ceremony.
When the wind moans
through the oaks she planted,
we can smell her perfume.


About kirstenaurelius

Costumer, mask maker, tea drinker; I write a bit, and read like an arsonist.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s