Critics' Picks
POETRY
Houses Stand Silent
by Annalise Torczon
age 12
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Tombstones over the residents who once lived there
Levees exploding while they slept in their beds
Engulfed in a nightmare, buried alive, now dead
Wind whistles through open doors and windows
Cracked mud caked on floors and porches
Where children once played with their blocks and toy horses
Now black with mold, oil and disease
The stench burns my nose and eyes as I sneeze
A starving dog scrounging for a meal
Shriveled to bones, no master to heal
A lone bird sings, with no answer from its mate
An alligator impaled on an iron gate
Gone is the music drifting in the fog
No saxophone’s wailing, no steamboat horns hailing
All I hear now is desperation, forlorn people scattered all over the nation
We’re told to have hope, all will be well
In this barren wasteland, an empty shell.








