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Unquiet House

by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Dilapidated house. The broker’s keen
To pitch the property to newlyweds
From out-of-state, which we pretend to be.

Maria’s chatter is distracting him,
Eyes showing gleams of true engagement, winks.

I slip out — for a photo, I explain —
Meticulously cautious. Quiet shoes.

How many bargain hunters have been here,
Inspecting dirty cellar walls for clues
Of water damage, not suspecting mold
Is not the worst homeowner’s legacy?

The deck is clouded. Spiders overhead,
Suspended from dead vines, await a broom
Knifing through filaments spun secretly.

Unnatural deeds carry threads forward
Like the black widow spider, breast-stroking
Through gossamer voids under ragged moons.

Sweet blood’s in undiscovered special rooms,
Unconquerable sorrows tendon-taut.

The “For Sale” sign nods back and forth as if
It recognizes me through my disguise.

No longer called a conjuror, my steps
Still carry the pulsations of lost hearts.

The agent doesn’t realize what’s right
Behind him, why he must be sacrificed.

Maria’s eyes meet mine, a message swept
Across in spidery blinks of eyelash.

The undead must have dreams for which to wait.

Copyright © 2019 by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

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