Riverdale House
Maplewood floors with dust in corners,
cold white plaster walls keeping secrets kept quiet
Little bird orange and yellow, crushed by confining care
then silence grew on desperate mornings
Walls were re-painted shades of the same color
Cobwebbed basement leapt up to steal innocence on a holiday
Gangways narrow and endless in steamy summertime; afternoon growled hungry,
fed on iridescent flies
Third floor sunshine from west bare windows
settled on grimy linoleum newly laid¾ neglect it withstood¾all ashamed,
the slanted ceiling coming down to cover hard blossom dreams
Bees dead behind failing window-shades
Closets with their clear-glass knobs
hold pale white mothballs and imaginary black and white pictures
Footprints backwards and words turned in for the sake of stillness in an empty bed
Hushed apathy lay on the moldings
Faded blue awnings faced north east
Held in place by rusted once-were-white railings framing a stubborn door
Cracked sidewalks with uneven edges lead east then turn south forever
Backward footsteps turned alive, walked—perdition exhaled
