derelict
glancing into that abandoned place you wouldn’t see it. you’d see last year’s dead tomato vines staked like giant, vanquished spiders against the crusty soil; a crumpled purple bathing suit blown from a clothesline; the splintered hen coop stacked with empty jam jars. among the flowering weeds and crab grass runners: yellow gourds with dishcloth clothes and crayon faces. you wouldn’t see a weathered body freckled with birdshit, nor the punched-in shadow still aglint with thoughts. you’ve passed this place many times on your usual walk. at night there are no lights, no voices: its restlessness is wind and birds.
Photo credit: Theen Moy
I loved every word of this. Stunning.