The Threshold of Loss
(day 3 of #NaPoWriMo challenge)
The door hinges creak, the tap drips and drips.
I hear these voices in soft moments as they pass.
The crows, live wires. Another perplexed wasp.
A space in my ear canal distorts as it reopens.
Dead music starts singing a soliloquy to lost love.
This is the mix-tape death plays now, on repeat.
- The rasp of a tongue over cigarette paper.
- Laughter that thrums inside skirting boards.
- Morrissey on helium, plucked like a kite.
- Hamsters in attics clattering dead mother’s wigs.
- Telescopes tuned to the waltz of a waning moon.
- Baby pigeons on a balcony pizzicato-ed by gulls.
- The ghost of ‘True Blue’ that still haunts the landing.
- The shriek of a key as it turns into this unloosening.
- The way footsteps can make an orphan of a house.