I rediscovered this poem in 2001, during one of our habitual clean-outs...
At Night…
| this house smells of
sudden thumps and untouched cries. I discover a hall full of leftover footfalls, the aftertaste of unmade beds, mantels not dusted, stacked plates gasping for water. A fly wakes at four desperate for daylight, and an orphaned cat whispers at the door... with claws. |
© Mike Crowl 1998