Lost in the move.

Knew this place was haunted.

Always.

Smells of coffee- not my brand,

old-time black tobacco smoke,

horse hair…

More than once we were

shoved downstairs.

“This house has misery

in Centuries,”

I heard.

“Take yours elsewhere.”

.

My emotions run so thin,

now.

My heart may as well be dead.

So much left to beat through,

though.

Life is long

when wonder’s numb.

.

Boxes, weighing,

QR codes, customs.

What’s the value of our stuff?

What do we break our

backs over?

.

Pleasure’s been hard to come by.

You’d pour acid over all of this.

For a racing, hot heartbeat,

a shot of sparkle to the brain.

.

Can I leave rottenness

behind?

The land burns here.

The land burns there.

All is fire.

I am ashen.

.

Can I be heaven-bound,

instead?

Can I go and sin no more?

Almighty (forgive me),

I did not intend to pray.

But

see me fall now to worn knees.

See me bow a wretched head.

—

Louise I. Baker