you hear what the house has to say.
clanking, water running in the dark,
mortgaged walls shifting in discomfort,
voices mounting in an endless drone
small complaints like the sounds of a family
year by year you've learned how to ignore.
now you must listen to the things you own,
that you've worked for these past years,
murmur of property, of things in disrepair,
moving parts about to come undone,
twisting in the sheets remember all
faces you could not bring yourself to love.
many voices have escaped you until now,
venting furnace, the floorboards underfoot,
steady accusations of the clock
the minutes no one will mark.
terrible clarity this moment brings,
useless insight, the unbroken dark.
Daily Horoscope, Graywolf Press,
by permission of the author.