The House on Falkirk

February 17, 2009 at 10:19 am (Kelowna Poems, Poems)

Eyes in the corners of the walls, sometimes
I can feel their stare even in the day.
In my cousin’s pale blue room, where the ouija board
is kept high on her closet shelf, I am sure I am being watched
as I touch the glass perfume bottles and boxes of blue eyeshadow
neatly lined up in a row on her dresser. Bobby told me
that ouija boards can never be destroyed. “You can’t even burn them.
They’ll come back.” I hurry when I am sent on an errand to find
something in this room where my parents sleep. Downstairs I know
there is something alive. I feel the walls breathe at night when the house
is quiet. I try to sleep in the twin bed across the room from where Bobby
and Kevin sleep, squeezed tight with my back against the wall beside
the laundry room. A square hole was once cut above this bed, a window
where in the day we take turns peeking into the two rooms. As I fall asleep
I see a pair of arms reaching through.


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