The door was half open.
He walked in,
No sound,
Impulse to leave.
No one;
Light was burning.
The house stood,
Open still,
Filled with a sour smell.
Drops of blood,
Small,
On the stairs.
He walked up.
Frightened,
He stood,
Trying to imagine and preparing himself.
He took off
Running up the steps.
08/16/2017
*
This is a black out poem made from James Baldwin's Go Tell It On The Mountain, pg. 41. Thank you for reading.
