Let the Dead Live With the Dead
Would you sleep in a death house?
Buy it on the cheap, maybe tear it down
and rebuild for better karma? Or would
you fear the ghosts of the usurped past
and turn and walk away?
I do not want to sleep in my bedroom
ripe with death, by means unknown,
that came for the mouse whose last
foray was undertaken five nights ago.
I wonder if mice will plague my dreams.
There are three houses in town where
blood pooled, saturating 70-year-old
floorboards. Some 5, 6, 10 years later
the scent of dead still sticks like sap.
No lightning-won’t-strike-twice thinking
has brought any bidders.
Whether you believe in them or not,
the dead don’t care. They remain
in the place they last lay down,
staking their ground, calling it home.