The Dirt
Rain soaks straight through
the wood of the old house
like cold and heavy,
like something lost
and desperate for warmth
A frenzy of mud and earth
and water mixing muddied water
And I can picture her there
crying heavy tears to challenge the rain,
the way she used to challenge everything
she lost
Her mascara-laden dirt
forming a trail of its own
behind the veil of her worn-out curtains
She tried washing clean,
she tried shaking off the grime
This time, she lost
With no one there to blame
And she alone carries the bruises
of her heavy fall
and clenches her eyes as she tries
to scrub away the dirt
that eases in the cracks
of the sin-stained walls
turning them back into mud
Like a once un-yielding fortress
tumbling back to earth
It's the only changing thing
In this old house
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