Half its contents stashed away
Or shipped to another state,
Primped, perfumed and prettied up
It no longer reflects who lives here.

It no longer echoes happiness
Or tries to hide despair.
It’s just another pretty face
Looking for a suitor.

It promises hope for someone new
Who will hang the walls with their own joy
And shed their sorrows in the garden
Beside the bubbling fountain.

It will be the gate to a neighborhood
And an enclave of belonging.
It offers safety from the storm
And the ravages of the city.

It’s up for bids beyond the price
To see who wants it most
Or has the deepest pockets.
With preference to those who’ll love it.

The house is open for the world to see
And guess about the owners,
Crying softly somewhere else
As they prepare, unwillingly,

To kiss a beloved home goodbye
And strike out for a new beginning
In someone else’s home, now theirs,
In hopes of finding Shangri-La
In the new world of Nevada.
ljm