reckless shrubbery, untrimmed,
hiding a front door,
a curio on the porch,
a suede couch, ripped three times,
dirt blanket keeping the fabric warm
(bodies don't anymore);
one window complete,
cobwebbed and streaked with
soil sneeze,
the other, out,
a gap left covered by trash bags;
walls painted by more than two hands,
a blue space visible in the crackling white of the entry,
purple bathroom,
wave stencil-work done in the middle,
a vanity that opens to rust,
kitchen cabinet held by a bottom hinge,
crooked, opened,
canned vegetables and cat food,
a door, frameless, floating
against a wall in a bedroom
where a choke-me rug sleeps,
stairs a child ran up, creaking,
black bags of cigarette cartons waiting
on a second story for some return,
a tattered flag hanging from a ceiling fan,
spinning in the door-cracked breeze,
a purse left opened on the floor,
a basement full of unknowns
because fear, too, ran me away.