Edited to fix a perspective error.
I slide the shutters open
to let in the morning sun.
These old shutters have rusted,
so they want to stay shut,
but with a little bit of gentle coercion
and no small amount of cursing,
and sunlight slices into the room.
This old house,
has not know the presence of a living soul
in a long time.
Almost at the instant we open the shutters,
the house groans,
as if waking.
The rays of July, morning sun,
reveal the motes of dust,
which we have distubed,
hanging lazily in the air,
like welcoming spirits.
I say, “You know, with a little work,
I think this place will be pretty nice.”
You don’t seem convinced.
There are shadows on your face
that exaggerate your doubts,
making them plainly obvious,
even though you’re trying so hard
to hide them.
That and you’re chewing on your thumbnail;
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