fireyspright

I Wrote this poem for a poetry workshop class.
It is all true....
(And BTW I have decided against my ex, since he never supported me much anyways.)


The Haunted House on Temple St.

My new house, white with grey shudders,
Loomed from the inside, with pleasant exterior,
Hating it for being my replacement home.
The steps a veritable disaster zone,
The high ceilings grotesque with their brown beams,
All mocked my indignation,
Taunting me with their bare, abandoned quality.
The first night there I felt the grip of the places
Terrible ambiguity.
I was pushed to the top of the house,
Like so much hot air,
All of my familiar belongings,
Floating around me.
The house, older than any I had ever been in,
Groaned and creaked with the wind.
I stole cigarettes from my mother as soon as
She left, and retreated to my tower to
Soak in the solace as I so
Often had done prior to this place.
Upon closing the door and sitting by the window to smoke,
I returned to find it shut and locked from the outside.
This couldnt have happened to me!
I cried out to no one, and leaned out my window.
The thought of that spooky old room parallel to my own,
The only other room on the third floor of our two family house,
Plagued my thoughts and left my peace of mind challenged.
Full of old boxes and dust,
It had the air of a place no one should ever go,
And there I was, alone and stuck next to it.

After that dreadful night I never closed my door.
There was no explanation,
just an old house
My mother said.
But even she was touched by the eeriness.
She began to do strange things that she had never done before.
She bought lamb at the grocery store and made mutton stew,
Decorated the kitchen in a style alien to her tastes.

In the basement there was a giant hole in the wall,
That was covered over by a metal grate.
A grave, thought I, if not for a person then for a time,
When such things were understood.

If ever I so wished to leave a place,
It was that house.