the door stood 
     crooked
clinging to its frame
one hinge holding on
grip fading but refusing 
to let go
beyond the the doorway 
the house too was 
    crooked
everything out of place
just slightly
the couch a few 
feet to the left
its decorative pillows
scattered across the floor 
a glass shattered, its
pieces forming a puzzle 
in the orange juice
it once held

and i stood in the yard
looking inside as
i hung from a single hinge
my life now standing 
        crooked.