From TC 9:2 – “Portrait of a Home” by Aaron M. Wilder

Your cross-beams sway in the wind now. That once stood so defiant to God. Shingles splintered and thrown to time. Weathering to male-pattern baldness. When I see you again will this roof be shaved? Doors hanging by one hinge? Elements and that run-down phrase—”it’s just the wind”—making themselves at home?

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