Most of the ground level floors have fallen to the basement, but the living room hangs on for now. In the dust of lost memories lie a couple couches, a rusted washer, and an old kitchen stove – all gathered around an organ, attentive. Sitting still as a beaten heart and shallow as hollow lungs, a skeleton home keeps you safe for now. Seems that someone tried their hand at saving this place, a few floorboards lifted and walls gutted upstairs, but gave up when the job proved too tough. If you're waiting to be saved, that time has passed. water rushing through the ceiling every time it rains. There's a crooked quality, mindful of a moody misery, not to be mistaken for being at peace. Swaying side-to-side and slowly creaking, can't tell if it's me or the home that's breathing. Coughing up history, in wheezing clouds of finished stories. Two floors and a basement, all coming down in a stone foundation. Tightrope walking on bare beams underfoot, across the mouth of an open grave. I watch my steps, every one.
June 29, 2020
Annapolis County, Nova Scotia
facebook |
instagram |
twitter |
tumblr |
youtube |
etsy
You can support my work
get things in the mail
and see everything
first on
Patreon