SILENCE OF ROOMS.

A VISITATION TO AN EMPTY ROOM.

You stand by the doorway
And gaze. The room’s had
Better times, better days.

A broken bed frame stands
Deserted. You wonder who
Slept there last, whose head
Laid there to dream of dead
Stars and dying galaxies.

Who slept where on the
Double bed? Did he sleep
On the left and she restless
On the right? Were babies
Born there? Did they die
There too? Desolated now,
A wreck of wood, metals,
Screws and nails. They who
Slept there once, sleep elsewhere
Now. The smell of death lingers.

Plaster has broken away from
Part of the wall leaving wooden
Slats like ribs exposed. Dust
Hangs on the air, mingling
With death’s breath of bed
And room’s waste. You want
To turn and go away, but
Something about the sight
Makes you stay. The open
Window; the green trees
Beyond; the thought of unseen
Ghosts lingering, watching,
Waiting, sucking in the air.

Something stirs in the empty
Room; makes play with the
Headboard’s ruined cloth,
Raises dust. Some made
Love, kissed, gave birth to
Babes and no doubt died
There in that broken bed.

All is silent now; no breath,
No words, no sound of kissing
Lips or touching of flesh or cries
Of mourning; just the fresh chill
Silence of a new day’s morning.

Author's Note

PHOTO BY ARLEEN HODGE.