At night, the house was a different person.
A foot would make the marble floors creak.
Light from one lit room would cast shadows into the others
And you would swear someone was waiting in these shadows
Staring at you.
The blue, quiet hum of the TV would scream,
And you could hear the icemaker weeping.
Pink tile from the mermaid bathroom faded,
As dried roses were resurrected.
Little cherub soaps conversed alone against a wood panel backdrop,
The electric streaks of cars outside reached
Into the parlor and grabbed the marble statues.
The chandeliers with their flickering, streaming bulbs
Observed the bizarre routine.
The fake fireplace would cycle
Over and over.
And the doorbell would press itself.
