Between Walls and Windows
The grange house still stands not far from your home,
a gathering place, no longer used. Wildflowers
grow high around the foundation.
There are no paths of curious strangers,
desirous of peering in windows to see what was,
if any of it still populates the rooms inside.
You are such a stranger. To most, in fact,
always peering, looking.
gathering photographs and dust, listening
for what lies between the walls and windows,
what was, and what could be.
About this poem
More about my curiosity about people than the Grange hall itself, which is maybe 2 miles from my home. I am often accused of being quiet. I am. I am a listener more than a talker. It suits my personality, and it suits my curiosity,