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Hall 608 to 615

  • Currently reading: The Outsider – Stephen King
  • Currently listening to: Monster – Skillet
  • Currently watching: Archer

Hall 608 to 615


The expansive network of hotel halls stretch
Away like well-ordered roots of a tree
A bronze number adorning each heavy black door
Sounds from behind each finely dressed pine
Their voices and movement draped in false privacy
Softly, clatter the empty glasses and plates
All askew upon my stubborn trolley
Its wonky rear wheel knows what hides in the wall ahead.
This is a wall that hides a vivid memory
Still hides the victim within its oaken bones
I wish I couldn’t hear her
I wish she didn’t know I could
She whispers through the tattered cloth
Broken nails from digging in the bricks
She’s pleading with my quick steps to halt
The only quicker rhythm batters my ribs from inside
She calls me by my name from behind the chintzy paper
I can smell the moist mortar of her breath
A once homely warmth flees in panic from the hallway
I don’t want to stop but I cannot tell you why
The wall seems to shudder as if mocking my spine
That wonky wheel threatens to run away with me
The memory sobs at me from the depth of her spreading-damp heart
I ignore her impossible words
Wishing they were a trick of badly built acoustics
Then, the landing hits me like a plastic ribbon finish line
Breaking over my chest, reminding me to breathe
That wonky wheel snaps back into line
I secretly hope to myself
That when I have children
their goading chocolate voices
won’t remind me
Of the dead girl in the wall

L.S. Black 2019