THE ONE WHO IS THERE
 
 

The wind doesnít howl,
the things the wind causes to vibrate
do

A corner of the attic is shaking apart
with falsetto, throw books at it
to make it stop, someone is up there
in the corner, someone who lived here
in 1944 working the swing shift
riveting fighter planes together

Walk down the steps backward
watching loose pieces of wallpaper
waving, there is no draft, no wind,
light bulbs never burn out upstairs


 
 

©Bob Rixon