Historic House

Poem by David Masello

The front and rear doors
 
of the Georgian house
 
are open—so that
 
you can see through,
 
across a checkerboard foyer,
 
interrupted by spiraling stairs,
 
to the sunlit field,
 
mown for the party.
 
From the street, you think,
 
how narrow the residence—
 
what a disappointment.
 
But once inside you find
 
there are generous rooms
 
along both of its sides,
 
ceilings acanthus-leafed.
 
And you feel, too,  
 
a cross breeze, sufficient to lift
 
the skirts of mannequins.