Four Rooms

Father hangs the family secrets above the ceiling in a room without doors. Only the moon looks in listening to the murmur of unused furniture.	Some days the TV is left on entertaining a bewildered living room. A woman in a black dress her fingers aflame dances before a charcoal pit each of her eight arms holding up a match light with no one home to seduce.
In the kitchen recipes are recited over and over. Mother brings them to a boil and squeezes the mixture into small cylindrical casings. Flavor is preserved in the uniformity of the cookware and the properties of a vacuum.	Asleep the bedrooms dream in dark wood floors. A slight insurgent light under the door. After midnight sister and brother walk out the upstairs window glancing the tops of decorative trees falling smaller onto the long trimmed lawn.