Searching

slowly—

slowly descending this wooden staircase,
lamp in hand,
the faint glow of a dying fire
casting dying shadows on walls i know
would speak
if only they could,
i hold my breath as though in deep water,
looking underneath dusty furniture,
opening every drawer, every closet,
flinging all the curtains aside, sorting
through rotting garbage,
eyes wide open like round saucers,
one hand clutched over my breast
to quell an oncoming despair
yet never daring to

switch

on

the lights.