A house is melting into its leisure.
The green tin roof bends itself into fanciful angles,
achieving arches and curves
with corners dripping
like cool summer pleasure
laid thoughtlessly in the sun.
Creeping plants previously prohibited
rise slowly through the shrubbery,
slide up the siding
to find windows waiting open and smiling.
So the vines pour themselves in, filling the rooms with a leafy slosh.
And the ceiling beams are dizzy to touch green life again.
The walls welcome
the brush of tendrils,
the pressure of clinging roots,
the ticklish cracking of the rigid plane they have courteously held
since they were put just so.
Now their orderly particles shake loose,
dusting plaster like sugar
for beetles and flies
who will join the celebration
or trip away, sparkling in the breeze on their way to some new ground.
At last
wooden posts succumb.
They soften their knees and shoulders to test relief,
then let their work go,
curving into smiles of anticipation as the floor below them also relaxes,
and all the edified parts sink closer,
dip their toes into the cool earth cellar,
waiting for the plunge.
© Laura Seale, 2012
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| Abandoned House; photo by Daniel Leininger from Wikimedia Commons |
