The home inspection’s litanied its woes:
Old water damage. Evidence of mice.
A long half-century of weather-blows
against its body.
Though she’s pared her price,
they hesitate—rumpled young man in jeans;
woman large in the belly, pacing, wincing;
toddlers cheeky as Hummel figurines
tugging with sunburned arms.
So unconvincing,
this hanging back. What’s written on their faces
is ache, aimed at her flowers, her picket fence,
her rooms. Aimed at a future that erases
her past, nudging her toward irrelevance
(she thinks, and wonders if she’s being a fool).
He steps forward. A chill blows through the vestibule.
