Calliope Waits

Calliope waits at the end
of a long dusty road
gently curving
past long abandoned cow
pastures
where ghost cows chew their
cuds and smile
at dust devils
whirling

She is surrounded by over-
grown roses, the old ones,
that release their scent
to the bees and the
butterflies while birds
build nests in the
eaves of her front
porch and mud wasps
buzz at no one and
nothing

The box woods yearn to
be brushed by
giggling hands and
the front step sags
from the weight of years,
not steps.

Even the screen door
caught by a wind
claps alone with
one hand - wishing for
laughter

Hoping.

The rooms of Calliope
are bare, simple shadows
on the walls, a hint at hutches
and couches - sideboards-
an easy chair
furniture that once stood
strong and sturdy, gone
or covered.

The white pine floor reflects
the sun - but
yearns for tiny sounds
of bare feet, laughing
quickly
from room to room.

Calliope waits -
she has for years -
and will continue
to yearn
for those that would
make her
home