Your Busted Mansion

…as published by Let’s Get Tight

The high arched doors of your
decrepit castle
stand tall as two men, with
decorative wrought-iron fastenings and
heavy black rings I pull to enter.

The foyer immense, wrought with
incredible emptiness,
blasted by a thick dust like powder from clay.
Marble is everywhere and the stairs,
a wide spiral I ascend.
I’m holding a little boy’s hand,
protectively leading him, as he is leading me.

At the second floor, the tour
leads me to you, standing on the threshold –
a room saturated with light
so bright I can barely see you,
but I know this is where you and she built a life.
You take the lead; you’re guiding me,
my little boy, and her ghost.

Each room is curtained by a white sheet
and you pull back each, dramatically.
The shock stings with stunning light
constricting my pupils, quickly and fully,
revealing the inner eye and I
realize
the floor of every room has been removed
cut out with exacting precision, fully missing.
A void of bright white below.
It is then I let my little boy go.
He runs off, and I know
he’s too smart to fall in any holes.

I take your hand as you lead to
the final room we’ve yet to view.
A grand ballroom with the floor intact –
A grand piano that a master’s sitting at –
Notes bounce gracefully about the ornate room,
as we step in, alone, anew.

Though I know this foreign waltz
is your dance, not mine,
I follow every step in time and your eyes shine.
With fluidity we glide over every inch,
the moment endlessly suspended like
the breath before a long-awaited kiss.