William S. Gainer

Grass Valley, CA

The House

The doors don't latch
and the windows don't close.
The drawers
of the east facing cabinets
tend to slide open
when no one
is around.
Things are better in the winter,
but still not –
just right.

The landlord says
it's because the house was built
in the rain
and all these years later
it still swells and contracts
with the seasons.

The lady with the Tarot cards says,
"Bullshit."
She says there's the scent of a cat
that likes to sit on the sill
of the bathroom window
and watch the jays
hide their prizes in the yard.
She says that's how the scratches
in the woodwork
got there –
the cat.

She said there was an old man
who used to live here,
he banged on the floor,
spent his days yelling at the walls,
was sure there were demons
on the other side.
He said they were sneaky bastards,
kept hiding his coffee cup
and taking bites of his toast.
He had his ways
of keeping them out.

His daughter placed him in a home
for the demented,
but the floors were concrete
and his cane didn't have
the same effect,
so he banged it on the walls
until the Filipino night-man
took it away –
his cane.

He wouldn't get it back
until the big woman,
with the conk hairdo
and the little tattoo,
of what he thought
was a horse's head,
would tell him,
"This is the last time."

He asked about the tattoo.
She said it was a unicorn.
He said he had seen that mark
before,
that she should be careful
and that he would pray with her
if she wanted him to.

Those on the other side, the demons,
weren't as forgiving at the home
as they were at the house.
The only gift they had for him
was madness.

The lady with the Tarot cards
said the house had gotten even
with the last family to live here,
it tormented their nine-yer old.
She said a woman with a powdered face,
beautiful teeth and a little drop of blood
on her upper lip,
would visit the boy in the night,
sit by his bed
and tell him nasty stories
about what old men like to do
when they drink.
She said the woman threatened
to put candle wax
in his nostrils and ears,
and to pin his eyes open
so he could bear witness to the truth
of sin.

The lady with the Tarot cards
said he screamed for twenty hours straight
the day they moved out.
Rumor has it,
he still hasn't recovered – yet.

She says – though you never see her,
the woman with the powdered face
still lives here.
She says she likes me,
thinks I'm one of those old men
she enjoyed talking to the boy
about,
says a little sin – is okay.

She says the woman
appreciates the odd things I do,
how I hide my money in old shoe boxes,
keep 200 pounds of pennies in the garage,
always carry a sharp knife
and avoid metal detectors.
She thinks it's sweet
that I leave the computer on all day
so she can cruise the internet
while I'm out.
She says she likes to watch me sleep
and listen to my conversations
when I dream.

The lady with the Tarot cards
says the woman suggests I paint the place –
maybe a nice beige,
nothing too sporty,
something calming,
she likes that feeling
when we're alone,
me and her
in the house
together.
She says she likes
that there's no one banging on the floor,
yelling at the walls
or screaming in the night
anymore.
She says it lets the past
rest.

The lady with the Tarot cards
says the woman
wants me –
to stay.
And that if I do
I might see her
in the shadows,
petting the cat,
pulling feathers
from its teeth.