Curse

the floorboards creak, conspiring against
your itty bitty feet
dark corners, dying walls
chipped paint and peeling
wallpaper, memories of what
once was, once
grew and left here

broken windows
on the far side; lines
in them, horizons of what
once was, once
grew and left here--

is dead, you think,
not wandering.
You creep along,
learning, surveying
bloody outcomes, explore
this place

cupboards ajar
drawers empty
old furniture, singing
for you, wanting you in
this place

your skin chills
to the bone
as you climb
to Koko Head Crater, a dusty mission
to the crow-infested rooms

bugs crawl around your
toes, begging you
to stay, to wish on
the star-shaped chandelier 
up top, can't reach

wish you could.

creak, creak
goes the floor 
beneath the bed frame, nothing but
the bed frame, your breath
bound in its cracks
bound in its colour

you close your smooth, patient
eyes, dreaming...
"Quinn!" your mother cries
it takes you years
to rush
to her.
"Mum?" you say, a bead
of perspiration, a voice
like the wind, like the moon, 
temperature risen, crimson
like your bubble blowing cheeks

her hand, thin, nails
long, painted red,
a ring, faded blue
"we'll take it," 
she tells the real-
estate agent, and he smirks,
writing something in his
weatherbeaten pad.

there is something wrong
here, something haunted

But what?

you look up
at your mother, and 
her eyes
are black. She smiles anyway,
down at you, squeezes
you tight, and then

you know