The railings are rickety.
There are boards missing on the porch.
Glass is broken.
Paint is peeling off in ragged sheets.
The work has begun. The saving, they say.
Bins lay at the foundation,
huge, gaping, full of rubble,
remnants of another age’s dream,
ripped out and tossed.
Day after day you walk past.
You see the pile of what was grow,
watch it get hauled away,
watch the pile grow again,
And you wonder how long it can go on
before there is nothing left.
About this poem
At times, some of us go through a time where we have to rebuild or reclaim ourselves. We tear down and tear down, because demolition is the first step to something new. But how do we know how much is enough, and how much is too much and nothing of what made us, us, remains.
The picture was taken in New York City.