Nicholas returns early, gasps;
the priest is stroking
his wife’s chin - or perhaps
he is about to choke her.
Horror fuels rage, sword
flashes in candle light.
Step over him now, buried in upright
stance beneath St. Michael’s entrance.
As penance, he built the church steeple.
The library floor remains ensanguine
by the stone arched fireside, but
whose blood was daubed on the boards?
Now, footsteps echo along
panelled corridors that lead
to the reading room.
Voices argue, startle; a priest
takes mass in the shadows.
A woman in black drifts
through walls. Ornaments change
places, door knobs turn
- hands unseen.
Eira Needham is a retired teacher, living in Birmingham UK. Her poetry is eclectic and has been published in print and online. Some of her publications are in The Linnet’s Wings, Voices from the Web 2016 and Poetry Pacific. She has also been Featured Writer in WestWard Quarterly.