In the Year of the Rabbit
We moved from west to east
Carrying brass doorknobs and a clawfoot tub and High Hopes
To a house that promised she would love me
As much as I loved her.
Her porch was an open mouth
Ringed with square, even teeth
She was the oldest on the street and had never fit in
She faced north so she didn’t have to look at the old gas refinery
And she silently raged at all the people who had left her
Broken and cold.
After the baby died in the small front bedroom
Stiff and purple, horrifying and beautiful
He knew we shouldn’t have come.
He felt her run through the house, a dance of light on tiny legs
A burst of warm air, the smell of milk
And then she was gone and
Never came back.
In the halcyon days it was always sunny, late morning and early afternoon
Now we lived at ten minutes to five
Under a dirty yellow sky.
When I took a bath I could feel her watching me
Disquieting, but not hostile
She walked in the hall at night
The floor squeaking under her soft footsteps
Making sure we were still there
Holding us tight, trembling with relief.
We taped the pieces of our life back together
But the seams were visible
Good things curdled
A tank of dead fish
Stolen jewelry
The smell of the dump under the smell of the bakery
The hum of I-5
And we were quietly flattened under the weight of the past.
I heard whispers
Of a house sitter who would only sleep on the couch because she heard noises
in the dark
Of a friend who did the same
An electrician who refused to return after going into the attic
We all knew, but what can you do?
She loved us and we loved her
And this was the price of her love.
When I came home after a long absence
The hairs on my arm would rise
She would strike the drum that sat on a high shelf
Thwock, thwock, thwock
A greeting to let me know she had missed me,
A threat coated in powdered sugar.
In the Year of the Rabbit
We sold the house and
A weight I didn’t know I was carrying was lifted
Crystal clear sunbreak
The spell was broken.
One night my brother said,
“You know our house was haunted, right?”
And I said, “Of course I know that, but how do you?”
I thought she had belonged to me and I had belonged to her
It never occurred to me that she was hungry.
Her love had turned rancid
She growled at him
And glowered from my room
He lived in fear of being alone
And he was always alone.
He cocooned himself in a sleeping bag
Protection against the cold
Hidden from her gaze
And waited until he could escape.
I’ve walked our street in the years since
Everything and nothing has changed
She pretends like she doesn’t notice me
But I know she still silently rages at all the people who have left her
Broken and cold.