In the Corner of This Room

In the corner of this room,
a chair made of wood,
where I sit at eventide
to watch the shadows flood.
Under the door, through my walls,
from the corridor, I hear their potent calls.
Swarming like a dark plague
over my bed,
These shadows are remnants,
belonging to the dead.
They whisper like children
with a secret to keep,
behind limpid hands
when they should be asleep.
Dark sockets of obscurity,
where innocent eyes should be;
and powder white faces,
no moonlight need see.
There is no escaping,
no exit marked “out”.
No dream to wake up from,
pointless to shout.
I sit and wait for them
to land on my shore.
On my chair made of wood,
I am safe no more.

Gillian Marshall lives and writes in Halifax, West Yorkshire, England, a stone’s throw from Howarth and the home of the Brontë family. Currently a stay-at-home mum, she writes whenever she can and is the owner of an online writing group, Madwordsmiths, a small group of aspiring writers. Gillian has had work published in Bewildering Stories.

Find more by Gillian Marshall in the Author Index.

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