The story of us...

Vacant Hearth

I know not how it was -- but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. ~Edgar Allan Poe “The Fall of the House of Usher”


Turning the corner to the address that had been -in grade school-
memorized only second to my own finds rotting shutters, peeling paint.
My hand brushes the glider, asleep under street dust and tattered tarp.
I’m back there now- my head in her small lap, her hands in my hair.

Scents assault my nostrils; not her scent, the scent that I keep in a Ziploc bag-
but those of grudges and rifts, of resentment and desperation.
Rooms devoid of life-or the life-the one in whom I confided
Upon whom I counted for a shoulder, sanctuary and sweet tea.

My eyes scan the molded and mildewed remains in hopes of recovering
something that I can hold onto, something tangible, a piece of her…
a copy of Julius Caesar, a bank book ledger, a scrap of paper-
instead, I leave with a hairbrush and heartache.