Sometimes it was simply the light that fell
across a dining room floor, a built-in cupboard
with distorted glass,
or a back and narrow stairs. I love one
house, the antebellum slave quarters,
then filled with mouldering piles of pecans.
The house was a four over four, with uncanny dimensions.
Another was glorious with detritus, its original inhabitant
a famed suffragette, having left her dampened maroon Baedeker’s,
advertisements for the Hamburg-America. Cunard Line,
Lusitania deck-plans barely impeded the path, back
out the kitchen.
It was all, naturally, torn down.