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there's a hole behind
another closet one that I can't see its where they live where they hide where they sneak slip through from the other side from a place I won't be I see them out of the corners I hear them throw small things to the floor I taste a bitter-something and I feel a trembling floor they want to know me I've sprinkled them out with sacred salt and sacred wisdom from the old ones the elders who've little doubt they could be trouble they might be sad they might be lonesome the sort of lonesome I don't want for company the kind of lonesome that could grow impatient and go mad borrow sorrow for me they have flexible shadows that stretch across the floors they have flexible extending fingers that tap the windows outside and tap my outer door they like to thinly whistle they like to trick they like to whimper-wail deliver their whispered lines to gather goose bumps to make little knicks into the outside crumbling brick they were too soon gone too early left too miserable maybe in their lives bemoaning funerals where few showed up and none were properly bereft where relatives argued loudly over knick-knacks instead of shedding tears and paying a modicum of respect earth bound spirits impatient specters lost and lonely ghosts regretting their past and borrowing the lives of others because they have back then what they needed most. I am thinking of a childhood poem from a great big anthology called Time For Poetry that my Mother gave to me. She found it at a Farmer's Auction...not one of those happy affairs where people want to retire and they are selling their things so that they can retire someplace warm...but because they have lost the game of life and are covering their debts so they can move on to who-knows-where? There was a poem in there called...A Goblin Lives In Our House. This and a lucid dream is what brought this ...Only The Lonely...on. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM 3:49pm July 4TH 2021 TIME AND DATE STAMPED AND ALSO FOR THIS WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS. AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD Vote for this poem |
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