Nov/Dec 2020 • Vol. XLII No. 6 Poetry |

House

After “Huis,” Hester Knibbe From the side path, what appears to be a house Is only a facade. Beyond its still-standing wall —  Slow shadows edge out light. There is a forest Surrounding everything, even such wild vacancy. Dark seeps over the forest floor where small Creatures burrow in fear, shrinking into shadow. They will not find safety. No one will find safety. River water surges to sea (in flood, over rapids) —  Unmooring the hill. It collapses, carrying with it All that can be torn apart. A man stands watching From a centuries-old bridge, watching apart from His body, like a blank presence hovering above a doll- house, a cradle. When did the facade become wall? Years before the flood, before it took his life, his house.

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