They entered the house through the window.
Exploring the methods of beams and glass. They tinkered with the blinds and danced in the curtains.
Their whiteness so abstract that it seemed to cast a shine down the hallway floor.
The leader had a repertoire of roles. She, half angel and half moonbeam began to familiarize herself with the landscape.
This was a woman’s house, she thought.
The others waited. Gawking over the silverware in the kitchen.
H twirled her hair round a fork, while
G fell in love with her reflection in a butter knife.
P was found with her nose in the breadbox, sniffing the odor of sweet brown bread.
Having picked out the raisins and dropped them on the floor, she hurried to the stair where the leader was petting the daffodils on the banister.
They carved their names and wingspans into that banister. Then marveled over:
1) a woman’s hairpin on the night table
2)a long hair on the pillowcase,
Then, they remembered remembering the woman’s voice.
One sang; while another tried on the woman’s dresses.
The leader didn’t like the so-called intervention.
Let us not bask in their glory, cried She,
remember, we too have a nation to remember.
She was not happy. They all nodded in agreement. Then, the woman came home.
They lifted to the ceiling then out to the pointed corners of the roof then floated off and away from the house and into the air, and then like electrically, like a current, they were: gone.
A raisin was dropped on the front porch.
© 2012
blog of poet, leah umansky 
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