The old house stood as sturdy as ever
even as the mangled jade ivy clung and grasped
as it had for decades, but she would never be killed.
It’s not in her make-up.
Painful star of poetry;
Ending in an oven.
Twinkling lanterns shone high
In the Johnstown night sky
I visited your grey face today.
Your not well, old friend, not well.
They say it’s spreading swiftly
Through your every curve and bend,
Staring through the dark of night
I can just about make out the ceiling, cracks and all.
It’s a battered fading plain of white like a rolled up piece of paper
Flattened back out again. It must have witnessed