Dust is blown from the achingly old mahogany.
The skeleton slowly straightens it's spine
crack,
crack,
each vertebra to the next
as they creep out from the tilted coffin that was once home.
A cold hand, longing for something more,
draws back the ragged, worn curtains
with sunken yellow flowers etched into the fabric
that had become but fabric a long time ago.
Soft, warm light, tiptoes its way across the rotting floorboards.
The dark pits between pale bone, and hollow craters where eyes were once set,
are once again alight.
