i set my phone on the table
i do so fear that house
the upstairs is nothing but dark rooms
the curtains drawn
and the stuffy old furniture laid in too-big rooms
nana's house is nearly 150 years old
and the joints creak more than hers do
every footfall is an echoing scream that rebounds into the dust
whenever you go into the bathroom upstairs
faces show up in the glass
in the fog that always shows up
and sit there like when you were a kid making hand prints and smiles
it doesn't frighten me any more
but
when i come downstairs
my phone
is on the top step of the basement stairs
the glowering darkness warning me

i am so glad to be back home