The Old House

The old house is trying to erase itself.

The red bricks now rendered.

The garden dug up.

Replaced by a cluster of rambling shrubs,

To let the wilderness back in.

Our home now repossessed by nature.

The old house is trying to erase us too.

The people that once lived there,

Like the phantom sensations of an amputated limb,

Reappearing from time to time,

At the site of disappearance.

Peering over from the roadside,

Unrecognisable.

Writer: Matthew Phillips

Editor: Lachlan Malden

Image: Billy Freeman via Unsplash