Crying loss into empty rooms
can soothe in the echo,
but only another's loss returns.

Doors can't keep such messy secrets,
nor close quietly.

There are nerves twitching in the walls,
surreptitious spies in the baseboards,
ears burning with half-heard truth
through discordant windows
opening like escape hatches,

airing each bidden lie
like hanged laundry,

crossing the line each night,
guilty of every stain
but the one that wore you.

06/08/2018

Posted on 06/08/2018
Copyright © 2023 Matthew Zangen