First published in August/September, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 3, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

A naked foundation of fieldstone and granite

once eyes of a soul long plucked away

over stone horseshoe eyebrows

along a honed cresent wall

vista to meadow and pond

of panoramas beyond

now woefully dismissed, abandoned—gone.

just an abyss for the green

growing haughty and high

from an open wound grave

dug by those who lay in chasms dug by those

themselves all lost from memory

like the master once here

with all left just a mere, empty void—in earth.

standing along, these deprived cellar walls

I envision exotic fine wood

supple silk, lace

wavy stained glass panes

sturdy, dignified partitions

on this natty stacked stone, with all that is left

broken twigs and dry leaves, snap under new feet

in sad Victorian defeat

is all that is left

to the Big House beneath.