Leah Horlick

“And because you are of a kind, the house knows
you. When you cry out,
the lights flicker, ghostly blue and ragged.
When she says you are shut off,
the light switches nod their white tiny
heads. Tiles creak yes beneath her
edicts—something bad must have happened
to make you this way, the way
where you don’t want her. But the windows
rattle, disagree. In their honeyed,
blindless light, they see it—something bad
is happening.”
― Leah Horlick