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.