The Drowning House

(for Jenny)

by Marian Lamin

such giant waves
such undulating lines of all too fragile wood
floating away
black tiled roof, unmoored, caves and
tumbles headlong
into the basement’s filthy wake of forgotten toys,
chipped china teacups, diceless board games.

the house is drowning; the house from
Kennebunk, Maine
bought one summer when the car broke down
on the way to Manset.
the blue house with a black door: painted, furnished,
wallpapered, electrified.

what then of the family? the dolls from Germany:
Peter the husband, his wife, (named for me)
three tow-haired children
the collie with his paw up

night bugs survey the ruins;
no survivors of this flood.

Marian Lamin: After years as a writer of fiction and nonfiction, I began writing poems and find that poetry is the most difficult and satisfying of art forms.