The Catch

The heat hit the porch like a physical weight,

so I propped open the wood and I unlocked the gate.

The wind caught the frame and it let out a whine,

a sound that belonged to a different time.

That metallic thwack and the rattle of wire,

when the lawn was all yellow and smelled like a fire.

In the corner, a hole where the mesh has gone thin,

a frayed little nest where the dust settles in.

It’s a thin, rusty barrier against the wide night,

letting in bugs and the hum of the light.

It sounds like a house where the people have stayed,

before they got tired and the memories frayed.