Matthew Ulland, “Lost House”

orange line

Lost House

Come with me.
There’s always a door.

See what lingers—busted drum,
plastic doll, abandoned childhood

trinkets. I’ve come to collect
remnants, to watch the light slink

across scuffed planks
and nose into the corner

where wood splits. Scent
of grain and gradual rot.

Wind sighs through cracks,
jambs and sills,

like a disappointed dog
left alone to lie.

Take my hand. Shadows
bruise into night.

I’ve watched them lengthen
and lie down next to me.

Come with me.
By daybreak, we’ll be gone,

motes of dust
drifting in hazy light.

 


Matthew Ulland’s poems have been published in Prairie Schooner, Barrow Street, LIT, and Clementine Poetry Journal, among others. He is the author of a novel, The Broken World, and a poetry chapbook, The Sound in the Corn. Find more of his work at matthewulland.com.


 

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