Tuesday, March 13, 2012

The Visit

This poem was motivated by having read the previously posted five poems by Ted Kooser and based on an experience I had while attending school in Champaign/Urbana, Illinois

• • •


Driving twenty five miles
We arrived at the farm house
Abandoned long ago
At the intersection of two unnamed roads.

The arrival was in a cloud of dust
At a house shrouded in dust
To visit people turned to dust
And their spirits of etherial dust.

The front door easily pushed open
Greeting us with quiet as thick as years
No one in the rocker to greet us open armed
Nor at the table for their morning meal.

The rocker mocked a horror film, 
Gently rocking in its deathly rhythm
Next to an empty window pane
Glass resting on the floor glittering.

Cereal bowl with crusted spoon
Brown medicine bottle three quarters full
Rotting leather case with its spectacles
On the kitchen table waiting.

Up the stairs, carefully with fear
We dared what waited from time
No one in the bedroom asleep ... or dead
A bathroom and its no longer dripping faucet.

A single bedroom with bed neatly quilted
A frilly pink bathrobe on a nail on the door
Clothes hanging in the armoire, not many
A bureau drawer nested by a robin now gone.

The bathroom a disgrace if any housewife was asked
Rusted toilet, water mark ringed sink, smudged mirror
Abandoned animal tracks printing the floor in a scurry
Window curtains now hanging shredded.

Driving twenty five miles
We arrived back at home
Still filled for now with life
Marked by the experience of their life and now ours.

1 comment:

  1. I love how you write!! I can picture in my head what you explain in beautiful detail and I have a feeling inside me what I'd feel if I'd been there with you. Your writing is amazing and so are you, amazing! I love you Unc M.


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