Stair Song

                                              - Don Bogen

My house is sinking.
On ceiling and wall
jagged reminders
fork the plaster,
widen in witness
nothing will hide.

My house is sinking,
a hostel for ghosts.
Doors, skewed open,
snag on the floor.
Window frames rattling,
closets unclosed.

Weight of the steps
that creak underfoot,
wood of the banister
rounded and fat--
stairs pull the house down
into the well.

How can I stay here,
watching it fall?
Walls that have cradled
parent and child
jut at crazed angles.
How could I sell?

My house is sinking
attic to basement,
rooms filled with boxes
heavy and frayed.
How can I move when
my heart is old?