I hear the noises
the house makes
while I lie silent under my warm sheets
wet with my sweat,
the house does not discriminate.
The cuckoo clock is reassuring,
tikTok tikTok tikTok…
just a predictable regular sound of the pendulum,
only my heart races to catch up to it
when the house creaks
while I lay awake at night
the sounds do not discriminate.
We heard the story when we bought the house,
scoffed at the idea of floating dead people.
There were none;
only a dead girl
with a bloodied brother screaming for help frantically.
She died on the way to the hospital,
or so they said.
But I hear the noises all the same,
night and day;
my ears do not discriminate.
I wish they would stop.