THE OLD HOUSE
The old house stands alone
away from the other houses on the block.
It's as though it knows its broken shingles and
faded paint aren't welcome among them.
For years I have hurried past it on my way to town.
Even knowing I could take another route, somehow I couldn't.
Tonight it draws me closer. I walk the broken stone path,
up the three steps onto the narrow porch. I approach the door.
Hands around my face, I lean forward
trying to see through the dirty window.
The door creaks open as I am leaning against it.
The old house draws me in.
The full moon sneaks its light through the dusty windows.
To the left, the large staircase makes its way upward.
The old wooden floorboards speak out to me with each step.
The rooms are empty now, but the walls whisper to me
about the past when I was younger.
Memories flood over me. Now I'm no longer alone.
The spirits of those I knew surround me.
They gather me into their midst, pull me close.
I become one with them.