The house is taciturn.

Secrets have settled under the dust.

You left in the middle of December

leaving a mug of tea, a half read

magazine and washing up

shipwrecked in the sink.

The innards of the house

lie in piles outside the front door

like discarded offal.

The ghost of a Brahms sonata

sighs around the dismembered piano.

Yellow crime tape flaps in the wind

like a Tibetan prayer flag.

 

I wish for a light at the window,

a steaming kettle,

singing from the bathroom

and a reason for your leaving.

2 responses

  1. Vivid images… especially ‘ghost of a Brahms sonata / sighs around the dismembered piano’.

    As Jonathan says, rather sinister, and leaving us with unanswered questions… great!

    I’m wondering about the first two lines… are they really necessary? Could one of them be the title, the second one maybe?

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