Foreclosure
       

I was leaving the large house for good.
Melody from an upstairs bedroom
wavered down to me:

I didn't look.
I'd so often woken to a voice,
a vibration, saying over and over,

You have a few minutes. This is a test.
What had I felt from that bed? Certainly
not fear. But there was never music before.

The living room stretched above me
like a vault. Floors shone darkly
and it was dark by the door.

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Copyright © 2014 Cynthia Hogue All rights reserved
from Revenance
Red Hen Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission