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