Knocks and Shadows

In this house


with dripping taps and ticking clocks

winding stairs and shadowed halls

“just one night” they said

under blue skies and sunlight

long before these hidden creaks, and blackening thoughts


I am reminded of a story my father once told

he was in a small room on an empty floor

of an empty building

at the end of a long, empty corridor

there was a knock on the door

he opened it

to nobody

he closed the door and, immediately

there was another knock

with force enough to shake the door in its frame

he opened the door again to see

nobody, and nothing, but the darkness


he ran then, on the legs of a doe

away from that room

away from his fear

and put it all in another room

tucked away in a dusty corner of his mind


he wondered then, as I did

and do now


or what

is knocking…



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