My House At Night Poem by Toni Atchison

Darkness has come again,
and I love it so at the end of the year.
Long cool nights of warm blankets,
favorite old books,
cats like heat-seeking missles,
fighting for the warm spot.
At night, I hear the house-
the furnace chuckles and mutters in the basement,
that loose window ratteling in the breeze.
This house speaks to me at night,
telling me tales of good and bad times past,
of other souls who've passed on through.
It remembers meals cooked,
arguments fought,
love made.
And it tells me these tales
in whispers and creaks,
in squeaky hinges,
in sighs and groans.

11-30-06