A new home, a home new to us,
with the boxes of our worldly things
and mementos of our lives,
both together, and before we met.
The powers isn’t turned on yet.
On this grey afternoon, almost evening,
the house is dark and cold, not welcoming,
makes it feel lonely and haunted.
She is walking around the yard, looking at
the bedraggled flower bed that’s had no one
to tend to it and nurture it, but still has wild
growth, unkempt life, left to it’s own devices.
And she looks to the back of the house,
and the dark and hallowed woods stretching
out, all the way to the highway, buffering the noise,
making us feel blessed and alone here.
We blow up an air mattress, stuff ourselves in
our bright red sleeping bags, lay our heads down
on fluffy, brand new and brightly white pillows,
and watch videos on our phones, until we sleep.
I wake up in the middle of the night. She is asleep,
undisturbed and untroubled, maybe dreaming beautifully.
There is something that lingers here, unnamable, a cold
or sorrowful spirit, of whatever happened here before.
I close my eyes, and spoon myself against her back,
and smell her soft hair, and her warm skin, and feel
my heart race, as if to call her own heart to the chase,
and try to share her beautiful dreams, in this haunted place.