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Jan 142011
 

by John Grey


This was where there house stood,

just crumbled stumps now,

and a hole in the ground

that was once a cellar.


No evidence of people.

The encroaching woods,

the weeds, the wild creatures,

swallowed the living whole.


Not even ghosts,

the years have done their exorcism.

Milkweeed chokes off memory.

Voles have more traction.


So much for the stake

we hammer in the earth.

Even the stumps retreat.

Only the hole makes headway.