It is dust, like pieces of the past
In swirls on a sparkling breeze
Like the glitter from a 2nd grade costume
It is this, that the old house sees

Liquescent windows to your soul
Purest, on this earth
Squirming warmth and puppy kisses
Joyous bundle litter-birthed

A cracking floor, imbibed with age
White gave way to yellow-fade decree
Echoes of footsteps long since passed
It is this, that the old house sees

New family - greeting silken fur
Different hands and faces
Loving tongue-laps to little noses
Not yet taught to fear strange places

An old curtain hanging limp and drawn
Pallid to nearly achromatic degree
Finger-smudged, reminders of inhabitants gone
It is this, that the old house sees

Growing - paws too big and clumsy
Learning the difference between anger and play
Head cocked - confused, those lovely eyes
Left in the hot sun for most of the day

Darkness dank and broken tiles
A rusted lock that has seen no key
Chains - heavy on the basement floor
It is this, that the old house sees

Beautiful eyes - dulled to less than life
Beaten into a temporary submission
Kicks and sticks have taught you well
For now, you accept this sad condition

A door with no concern, rusted hinges
Gold letters - seventeen-oh-three
Paint-flecks long-lost to vacant winds
It is this, that the old house sees

* * * * * * * * * *

Years long past - fur has lost its sheen
Ambling with destination vaguely known
Not sure where the old house lives
Desire to find - inside has grown

Broken steps - crumbled with the marks of age
Dirt, a dried-up frog - and a few forsaken leaves
A weary hound - no longer someone's pet
No longer a receptacle for grief

Pausing - trembles fill your walk
Whispers from the walls - "never free"
Recollection's terror invades your brain
And you know it's found: seventeen-oh-three

It is, as though, for all this time
The old house agreed to wait
For the time when you would seek the truth
For the occurrence of this very date

* * * * * * * * * *

Standing above the basement's chains
And anger becomes the key
A growl leaks past those still-sharp teeth
And it is this, that the old house sees

* * * * * * * * * *


A new youth for long-tired bones
And the day of reckoning has dawned
Its seeds were planted long ago
And it came to pass, as the old house saw.