Carolina Beretta studies psychology and brain sciences with a minor in writing at Catholic University (class of 2023). While she considers herself a scientist, she is a poet at heart. She is a current staff member of Vermilion and has web writing published.
This hollow house plagues my mind.
It's gutted, left with rotten oak floors and nail beds curled out.
The thin walls are stripped of paint and wallpaper,
Left with holes and scratches and mold—I feel tired.
The fireplace at the heart of the living room is neglected; it is left with dust
And sunken in by grimly violet shadows.
The air is stale and heavy and bitter—I feel faint,
Not even the prisms of light reaching through the fogged windows can comfort me.
Yellowed and splintered and patchwork sod that never rooted adorns the yard
And a lone willow with permanently fallen leaves cranes over the imbalanced roof.
A shrub of naked sticks marks the end of this desolate and decaying property.
And what is left is cold and bare and unremarkable
Among the lively houses next door.
Spring 2023