Dark Burgundy
Your room was the darkest shade of burgundy
Built upon the remnants of an old nursing home
The walls were laden with old photographs
Pictures of cats under Christmas trees
And your mother arranging a bouquet
Of magnolias, cherry, and night shade
There is a man by your bed
Old and sad
He is knelt in prayer
Hands clasped on the white sheets
You refuse to lay on
Now nostalgic and blood stained
There is a cat on my lap
Gray with gray eyes
Hearing as you tap
On the keys of an old and sad Steinway
Placed bellow your map of Spain
What an awful place, you said
The smell of cinnamon hits my senses
As I notice a dimly lit candle
Placed awkwardly on your nightstand
On top of stacks of playboys
And seventeen magazine
That you’ve collected for irony
Your closet was white and dirty
Home to a blood-soaked old lady
Eating nightshades and rosaries
As you sit still at your Steinway
Encircled in salt and quarter candles
Pressing the keys you know so well
Sweet and sour notes were played
Trying for Schubert or Debussy
Sweet and sour notes were played
Some were bitter
Some were empty
Some electric
Deadly, sad and sleepy
Your burgundy walls and ghosts
Your gray squared cat and me
Your old Steinway and map of Spain
Your ironic magazines
All the thing you’ve held so dear
Together
With you
Will all rest in peace