Haunted House

The hardwood floors buckle and bend
Moaning and writhing beneath me
Pushing against bare feet, splintering soles.
How do you walk to me unscathed?

The roof sags and leaks
Staining the ceilings, splitting them like fault lines
Betraying the shingles you carefully layered above me.
How do you stop the rain?

The wind rattles the window above our bed
Screaming her dark song
Screeching and howling against the cold glass, crying for me.
How do you sleep beside me unstirred?

Rusty water courses through pipes
Rushing toward faucets in torrents
Bursting forth, drowning me.
How do you wash and feel clean?

The stove renews its fire
Burning and smoldering
Licking and teasing, taunting me with heat.
How do you stand in this kitchen and shiver?

Life bulges inside these walls
Ripping through layer after layer of plaster and history
Covering me in dust, cracking my resolve.
Why must you patch these fissures?

The front door opens
Revealing a path laden with fallen leaves
Beckoning me to come and play, come and play.

You close it.


© 2009 by Jennifer Jenkins Reese



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Quick note: Okay. I admit it might have been a little early to post my melodramatic poetry (kind of like leaning in for a kiss on the first date). But I promised myself that if I was going to do this blogging/writing thing, I was going to do it right. And that means taking risks. There are those who will tell me to stick to only one form of writing, but how can I choose? I love so many different genres. For me, writing is like a big ol' playground. I can't be content to stay on the monkey bars, when the slides and swings look so darn fun.

It's a cold, rainy day here on the porch. The damp leaves strewn about my walkway reminded me of a poem I had written and stashed away. I dug it out and played with it this morning.

I adore writing poetry; I hope you tolerate reading it occasionally.

So thanks for the kiss. I liked it.