Pamplemousse

The Student Literary Journal of Vermont State University

The hill our house is on
    seems steeper each day,
and the house shifts uneasily
    on its foundation. Trees
lean as I walk, and I hear
    strange new animals
in the woods. Something
     is splitting mountain into rock
with great haste—
strewing angular fragments
     on the ground,
filling the brook
     with sharp teeth
as it widens, creeping
     toward the house—
yesterday, one face,
     today another.
Tomorrow, I may wake
     to a stranger.