By Joyce Gregor, Westcliffe, CO
The cabin door blew open.
I entered,
invited by the wind
who had forced its way in,
through cracks and broken windows.
We stood there,
the wind and I,
engaged in airy chatter.
The wind had reveled here before,
now it was my turn to view the decor.
Breezed through – I side-stepped destruction
entering what appeared to be the kitchen.
A Mason jar lay broken on the floor.
Cupboards once painted cream were worn raw,
a pantry latch, lacking a catch,
revealed wind-swept shelves of shared vacancy.
My craving for the past found nothing in store.
Gusting me through another door,
I met meagerness glued to the wall,
layers and layers of newsprint, now peeling.
Feature stories; headlines of 1894
filled the cracks, like wind traps.
Could this be my only rendezvous with the past?
Perhaps, if time is on my side,
I can read the past in print,
before the sun sets
and my glass slipper shares fate with the Mason jar.
