House

morning and evening shadows walk the cracked walls

The thick chalk paint peels and

the wooden window shutters split


The hot season can coax voices from this house

Open its broken binding like a book


Read the histories thumbed on the pages of the rooms

Angles corners rubbed soft loved yellow


The arthritic bones of the ceiling beams 

                                ache above me


and like the leaves not swept from the courtyard

Time accumulates and drifts slowly


Later I shall stalk my ancestors

Draw up close under their sun beaten wrinkles


        Watch this black ink fix to their heavy frowns

Before I close up the house

Robert James Berry