A whisper came from the house last night,
from the gaps in the walls
and the spaces in the ceiling.
A sudden deafening hush.

A book once told me everyone who lived in your house left shadows,
and those shadows crawl
under doors to bedrooms,
and settle under beds.

Lost widows and sick children from 1901,
nurses and accountants,
teachers and bored writers,
all dead but not gone.

Your halls and stairways at night, are not empty,
and your doors
do not stay closed.
The past residents are awake.

A sound that can only be fingernails on a wall.
The shadows have fingers,
they reach out at closed eyes
while you sleep, silently.

The whispers are louder now, their mouths at my ears.
“Our house too.”
“Our house too.”
The past does not forget us – we are not alone.


3 thoughts on “Residents.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s