Scratching of dry leaves
swirling on the parlor floor –
door swinging open.
Giggles have echoes
while mice scurry in frenzy –
whisperers unseen.
Cracked portraits of men
and women in fine attire –
a sense of watching
Creaks on the staircase
moaning from chilly hallways
high shutters banging.
Girl’s dresses rotting
moth holes changing their flowers
into peppered cloth.
A crib swings squeaking
as a mobile spins above
in the room’s still air
Bats in the attic
a little boy’s hobby horse
unseen hand rocking
Where the fire starts
no one will ever be sure
now the house is gone.
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