Lilith

We place our ears against the table,
listening. Only the ghosts can make
us whole again. Daddy won’t touch me,
he’s convinced we’ve let the spirits
out. Claims we are riddled with disease
and dark forces. We are all Ouija boards
and divining rods. Wrought iron fences
and too-hard polished surfaces. We
collect objects for a love spell.
Pilfered needles from a wedding dress,
the spindly hands of a clock. The shadows
of lost children illuminating the beds
where we sleep. Oh our crepe de chine
mouths. We are consumed by fever,
the shivering pink of our dresses.
When we cry even the animals leave.
Somewhere in the house an invalid’s chair
creaks. Somewhere a hand lashing out,
a bowl of cold oatmeal crashing
to the floor.