in memory of her.

checkerboard tiles
shining like glass
slippery with the overflow
of soapy bathwater

sopping lace curtains
lying in a heap
ripped from the bar
by grasping hands

diluted cherry juice
crawling up through the eyelet
replacing the white
never stopping
swiftly absorbing itself
searching for something

splattered walls
crying an unnatural color red
grout bleeding profusely

antique tub still leaking
tainted water
runs down its legs
gathering into bruised puddles
staining the floor underneath

weakened from the strain
coupled with old age
the ceiling below
begins to drip morbidly

sickeningly

drip, drop
drop, drip

onto dirty dishes
& rusted knives
in the scum-covered sink

removing flies
sending them fleeing
to the overflowing garbage
which their maggot children inhabit

drip, drop
redness trickles down shards
of plates once pristine
as the grandfather clock
chimes out of tune
in the next room
a century & a half late

forcing ancient piano strings
into exhausted vibrations
echoing pitchy waves
off of blank, distraught walls
& molding hardwood floors

reverberating the story
over & over
it repeats itself
through invisible hands
playing the heavily dusted ivory
requesting an audience
beckoning
with intertwined limbs
twisting & twitching
come play with us

eerie in the silence
they whisper softly
barely heard
over the ghostly melody
of broken, run-down keys

hauntingly lingering
like blood rushed to the cheeks
innocent & satanic
as a sudden blush

the troubled lullaby travels along the paths
of yellow light creeping up the stairs
seeping under the bathroom door
onto shining checkerboard tiles

black & white
in a past life

a cursed yin & yang
bitter & psychotic

centuries old
now rotting in their places

drowning themselves in filth
save one small spot
that time cannot touch

where her delicate pale hand lay, fallen
after clutching desperately at the humid air
yanking the curtains down in a fit of agony
losing strength as the blood slowed
falling with a light thud
with twitching fingers
& then an unbearable stillness

a sharp, biting coldness

that hasn't left yet.