The stairs creak voices – ketamine thuds bleed through
a single skin of brick; floorboards leak every secret.
The clock reverses – intermittent Gabba – radar moon. Cats scream,
I scream, howl my longings into cotton sheets. I scratch at the floor,
draw words in the mist of breath on pane; look through letters
lit orange by the light of the city night, at my beloved street below.
Bodies crawl, fumbling for keys – staring into shadows.
My hand-printed curtains float, lifting up as the city’s sweat billows into my room.
The shouts of children climb through my windows like burglars,
angry mother ’ s scream and drag them back out.
This house breathes for me – joists splintering with love,
the beat of slamming doors hides the sound of the past
that is buried alive in the red brick cellar below.
illustration Nick Victor
Great poem and picComment by Paul on 26 September, 2015 at 10:02 am