Rapping at My Door

Dark poem about a woman who refuses to stay buried.

I put my love into the earth

three days before

the night she came rapping

rapping at my door

I returned her to her plot

“Oh god,” I did implore

“please keep my love from rising

no more rapping on my door”

A bit beyond the witching hour

just as the night before

I woke from a fitful sleep

by rapping on my door

I cursed under my breath

as my bare feet touched the floor

I donned my clothes, I grabbed my shovel

so I may bury her once more

I led her to the cemetery

and set about my chore

to dig the plot deeper

much deeper than before

When the hole was finished

I tucked her in once more

and as the sun was rising

I walked back to my door

Two evenings passed in silence

just like the nights before

my love began to haunt me

by rapping on my door

“Oh, thank you, Lord,” I prayed

“I will ask for nothing more

just keep my love from rapping

rapping on my door”

On the third night she returned again

it was half the way to four

in the darkness I heard her rapping

rapping at my door

I opened the door, I stood aside

I could think to do no more

“If you refuse to stay in your grave my love

come in, be mine, as before”

She shambled through the living room

she went to the bathroom door

and picked up her curling iron

that still lay upon the floor

She yanked it hard and pulled the plug

its red light went dark once more

and then she shambled past me

and walked back out the door