I Had To Go Down

I hardly ever set foot on the floors below.
Creaking wood expanding contracting.
erratic ticking of the furnace
wild animal kicking at its iron cage
frighten me.

I don't know what impelled me to go down.
I should have waited till morning.
The stairs were dark
dust devils eddied in the corners
and the fringes of unraveling carpet
nagged at one like an abandoned child
left too long in soiled diapers
dust streaking down my nightgown.

I lingered on the second floor
shivering in the cold
gripping my broom dustpan mop and pail.
I flicked on every light,
pulled down curtains thickened by time,
scraped the caked tears from the windows,
stripped the bed of its stiff sheets
carried my bundle down to the first floor.

I had to make a seam on the wall
pry the door open
with the caw end of the hammer.
I heard footsteps in the basement,
an intruder breaking in.
But it was only a flurry of rain drops
hitting the windowpane
or the wind knocking the candle out of my hand.

I stood among the winter trees
grey and leafless in the sunken yard
the sky vast and eternal
I gathered the rotting wood.
It took mea time to light the fire.