OPEN HOUSE

Open House

And through the doorway,
mahogany, wall to wall,
we puncture the veil
to evenings of candlelit flame,

paintings hang, spines
upon the book shelf
of forgotten tales, furniture
made from a carpenter hands,

sweet tea cotillions,
curtsies under dim chandeliers,
shoes scuffing checkered
marble of black and white,

beneath the clamour
a howling wind like hymns
blows upon a empty field,
where cotton once grew.