The Woman in My Attic

she takes liberties
in the nooks and
crannies
of my house

she interrupts my dreams

creeping among the
cobwebs of my old
forgotten things

bringing back
postcard pictures
of
places I've never
been

whispering old wives tales
  'bout folks I’ve never seen

her vanity is
shady…

she admires
her odd reflection in
a broken mirror
brushing away the dust

until my vision
of her
grows clearer

sometimes,

I close down shop,
lock up
and
shut all
the house lights
out

with a quickness
she’ll strike
a match,
light a candle

and  keep on roaming
about

her incessant
noises
  hinder me
from
sleeping

she's up turning over
boxes of wishes,
spilling
promises not worth
keeping

she angers me
& frightens me
& always
makes me
cry

she’ll only hint at
answers
when I ask
the question
“why?”

but
she carries all my
secrets tucked
inside her
matted hair

and
there’s a certain
comfort knowing
she's watching

from up
there 

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