There’s ghost in her walls
Whistling hisses, cracks, and pops of radiators
Fire of a steam boiler warms the air Uneven tongue and groove floors
Grandma’s old area rug Those creaky Mahogany doors
Cracks in the plaster
Smell of everything that came before
Seventeen coats of paint on every inch
Even the plugs and light switches
Wind chilling you from single pane windows
Knob and tube wiring lost Mike in 23 found his hidden treasures
in a box under an old plank floor had the funeral in the parlor they don’t make best friends like that anymore
Passed from family to family
The happiness and heartbreak
Whispered in your ear
Come on in blow the dust off
Open up and write something In her book of lore
Powerfully penned, Bat. Another excellent write with great imagery my friend. A little fixer upper more than once, says the 17 coats of paint. Amazing read as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
Poetry is not words , it’s images and you evoked many with this simple observational write.
Well done Bat.
Really great images.
Like a grain film.
Regards James
Thanks James. Have a great day
Bat