With thick cement holding promise
stones were placed half a century ago
One over the other to make it a home.
Given in now to the onslaught of time
the wooden beams are bent without duress
and creak gently in the ensuing wind.
Don't stand there, I am warned.
They can just jump on to you for support.
As it seems, fate has played a clenched fist
destroying another childish construction on its shore.
One after another, the habitants have left home
preserving a continuity about what is human.
Head of the house, dead long ago.
Daughters, married off to the distance
Warring sons, separated.
Moving on and moving apart.
And the mother is left behind.
Living on little and living little
amidst a violent time
that is weeding out
the remnants of her home.