Enter the long-abandoned house

and you might feel an urge

to run. As if you had invaded

a sacred space.

Outer rooms are a disaster of dust and mouse droppings.

The inner room is like a pyramid of preservation.

The odor, like decaying cheddar cheese, slaps your nose,

you remember that mummies had no brains.

The sight of oak hardback chairs with

carefully cushioned seat covers,

each donned with fading sunflowers

assails your eyes.

The previous occupant had abandoned a tan, suede satchel

full of knitting needles, Propped precariously

on the floor near abandoned wine.