Kelly Hobkirk

We Crumble

The house seemed

perfect perhaps for my small body

The cedar shake sides

fresh blue grey paint

nails well-hidden

walls solid and silent

on warm walk-through tour

floorboards smooth with a fresh coat of

arid lacquer

giving nostrils the one-two punch on first steps inside

The old washing machine a clue unnoticed

walls that pop with temperature changes

so loud it wakes me

stove’s electrical wires crackle beside the wall

a junkyard refrigerator whines and hisses

French drains overflow in long heavy rains

water seeps under the garage door

foundation stained from wet framed wood walls

like sun-faded rings in an old tree stump


the house protects

keeps me warm


as it crumbles around me


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