A 1906 house surely must harbor a ghost or two
Surely these walls have seen enough death and sorrow to yield
A scream from the attic, a slammed door
The unexplained knock, the flickering candle,
The scent of roses in the parlor
None of these signs yet, though I have lain awake, uneasy
Many nights. Thrown off blankets, wrapped myself in silk
Tiptoed down the hall, then, at the landing
The carpeted staircase for madame’s grand entry, or
The narrow back stairway, leading to the kitchen?
Both mistress and maid of this house, I meet myself when
Stars vanish and moonlit clouds of August puzzle the sky,
Fans whirl, dogs turn and sigh, leaves consider their end
Reminding me that, for this brief time, I share this shelter with
Those spirits who have come before, and those bound to follow.