Only the original foundation is intact,
all history replaced
with central heating and plastic pipes.
But the pacing in the attic
doesn’t sound like mice.
Why this pacing? Why this chill?
If they are lonely, why not join us?
Are they too polite in their pain
to ask for help? Shouldn’t they provide
solace for the lonely? Why can’t they sing
our children to sleep with ancient lullabies?
Are we shivering from their cold embrace?
In one of the rooms,
in one of the trunks,
are photos of a life we had.
We are blurs on film.
I want to touch you,
but my fingers are frozen,
transparent as glass,
and numb to your flesh.
BIO: Linda is from Miami, Florida. Recently, some of her poems have been published in
Jupiter, Quantum Poetry Magazine, Tattoo Highway, Lily, Sangam, Abyss and Apex, and Astropoetica.