Alone

Write a poem from the perspective of an abandoned building.

Quiet now.
I remember
how their shouts reverberated off the walls,
how their anger rattled the windowpanes.
I remember
further back
how their shouts were of glee or joy,
how their anger melted into kisses.

Dust settles, coating every surface.
Flies begotten in food forgotten
on the counter. New generations of
flies buzz and land, creating footprint art
that no one but I see.
Quiet broken by insect sounds.
A storm the other night--
tree crashed through the windowpanes.

Water puddles on the floor,
the sound of drips reverberating
loudly. The quiet has been replaced
by new sounds of life. The calendar, pages curled, rotting,
months out of date, falls to the floor.
Wood under the window
cracks, spreads. Winter darkens. No longer are lamps lit.
The power is gone entirely now.

Cold freezes my pipes
and they explode,
house blood spraying.
I will sleep now,
no reason to be awake or watchful.
No carols to listen to or stories to hear.
Quiet returns, it seems heavier.
I miss the life. I am lonely.



Birdsong in the attic wakes me.
Rotten couches share much to line nests.
A dandelion blooms in the kitchen floor.
I watch its head trace sun patterns.
I am still, my bones aching.
I daydream: I hear voices, excited, full of life
and plans. Footsteps, cautionary voice
to avoid glass. Child fist snags the dandelion.