Abandoned half a century or more
the house seemed ghostly
every surface coated
with layered dust
old handblown bottles
cups and saucers lying
amidst rubble on the basement floor
a ladder to a second story window
allowed entrance to the two of us
both eager
to explore each empty room
and just as Nana
who'd left home when she was twelve
for San Francisco
three years before the earthquake
having said goodbye
to her beloved cow
remembered looking up the hillside
to the village church
there it was
framed by the upper bedroom window
precisely as she had described
although we felt no urge
to climb the hill on Sunday morning
barefoot as she had done
saving her shoes
for when she stepped inside