For Writober Prompt: Fear of Haunting 

In my sister’s house

the floor boards do not creak

in the middle of the night

when everybody is asleep and

downstairs in the living room

their dog is curled up on the couch

with his eyes gently shut, he also snores.

His name is Stitch.

In my brother’s house

the doors stay shut, once they’ve been closed

they are obedient doors, the hinges are well oiled

there’s nothing unusual about my brother’s oak doors.

His cats have never used them for scratching post

and I doubt they ever will.

After I visit my brother’s house and after I’ve

returned from my sister’s house

I drift up the marble steps of my home, just before dawn

as quiet as a mouse.

 

I float through my iron gates,

I find my name upon the wall

near the doorway where dry autumn leaves

and dusty flower petals are littered upon the floor.

I close my eyes ( which are never really open ) and I sigh a sigh

that nobody ever hears.

In my home  all of the floors creak,

and all of the hinges groan

when you push them open and wake them up

in my quiet home, that I do not share with another soul

all of the cats and birds and rats that  shelter here with me

sit and sleep with their eyes lightly shut

and you should know that

when I am here and only here

can  I rest in peace.

• written at SeaTac Airport