Follow her –
that narrow mouse-
gray woman clad
in linen white,
adrift and drifting
down the long and
dim-choked hall
papered all in
dusky gold and
stroked with
branching
flowers.
Pause –
as she applies bone-
white knuckles
(tap tap tap)
to each arc-topped
dark-polished door
along the hallway’s
throat.
Watch –
the bend and slope
of shadows leap
(burning, sputtering)
from the white-wax
stick she holds aloft
in its bright brass
holder.
(tap tap tap)
Her knuckles
rap.
Observe –
some doors remain
tight shut, impervious
to her knock;
some inward swing
and open on clotted dark
and pale hands reach,
accept neat-folded
sheets stacked between
the lean woman’s
forearm and
ribs.
Continue –
down the hall’s long
maw and to its end
where three shallow
dark wood steps
ascend to meet
a small lopsided
door;
here,
the woman taps
(scratch scratch scratch).
her index finger’s
neat-trimmed nail
and the door
(the door!)
(that small lopsided
dark wood door!)
flies open in a flash
and frames within
its toothless
crooked grin
a woman
(diminutive, aglow!)
of floss-pale hair
and dress.
Gasp –
but she has gone,
has snatched a set
of handkerchief-
sized sheets from
the stooped gray
woman’s outstretched
hand and darted
back within behind
the small door’s
closed and softly
mocking
face.
(But wait!)
…
(Oh please!)
…
(Come
back!)
— C.Birde, 4/19
