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.

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