By Mike O’Connell 

they told me
i could not go into grandmas old house;
“old wood, you see. too dangerous.”
but old wood could not explain
the whispers heard, coming from
the dining room. old wood could not
explain the shadows in the windows.
old wood could not replace
the laughter heard in there,
year after empty year…
i go in there anyway,
even though i am decades away
and the house has long since
gone away, to another place,
another time, where the laughter
still resounds.