Houses can host strange intersections
Of unsuspecting phantoms sometimes,
Chatelaine, withdrawing, haunted by
The wanderer wanted emptiness
And occupied comforts within it,
While the soul in charge, keys on her chain,
Was eager to shut the rooms for good
Or until some new owners took hold.
There were packrats lodged in a crawl space,
White-footed mice in the mud-room boots,
And odd scratches on the doors and floors,
None of which spooked the itinerant
Guest, contented to share a good nest,
So long as not with other persons.
The chatelaine rattled the cupboards
And fretted, and hinted he should leave,
Which he would, soon, sure, but that wasn’t
The point of this visit, now was it?
A house can house many lives and ghosts
But who will air out its lost closets?
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