what the wind remembered

nobody remembered her name or her face

or the pale of her wrists

by the edge of her lace

 no one remembered the man or his name

who sunk his axe deep

in the wood

in the yard

in his sleep

only the wind still whispered her name

through the gaps and the floors

through those walls

made of wood

and wrung out the leaves of the trees 

just like hands

to remember the others

the other ones who had died

there

two and twenty years before

and twice as long

before then

and twice as long

before then

and twice as long

before then

'house at 22nd and F' by katya