Your old house stands empty

And half fallen, like one of those barns

Awaiting one last windstorm,

and the rain and the earth,

slowly swallowing your edges,

chipping paint, warping  stairs.

Nothing left of you but ,

spirit and ghost and ancestor.


So very long since that house

breathed your same air

but I stop by expecting you

and a cup of tea

and a masterpiece

and the weight of your world.


If you could see your old place in Sleepy Hollow­­––

The thick trees grown over,

The blackberry bushes gnarled and curled,

And all that wildness you planted in us.  Thriving.


About margaretelysiagarcia

Margaret Elysia Garcia primarily writes fiction, essays and poetry from a remote corner of the Sierra Nevada. She's currently working on a non-fiction book about plus-sized modeling. She's also searching for a publisher for her new collection of stories? Mary of the Chance Encounters. Her short story collection Sad Girls & Other Stories out now on Solstice Literary Press. She blogs here and at Throwing Chanclas and Girl Body Pride. Is a contributor to Hip Mama Magazine. She writes the zine The Adventures of Sad Girl with her daughter, Paloma. She’s a three-time director of the national Listen to Your Mother Show in Plumas County ( She has an alternative women’s music show Milkshake & Honey on Plumas Community Radio (
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